


Danse Macabre

by TardisInWonderland



Series: The Saint-Saens Series [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisInWonderland/pseuds/TardisInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond!AU promt for Thestraggletag:<br/>"In a Bond-esque verse Australian Interpol agent Belle French finds herself in Europe working with some womanizer who insists on introducing himself as “March, Gaston March” every single time. It wouldn’t be much of a problem if his current “nemesis”, Scottish mastermind Nicholas Gold, wasn’t so damn witty and attractive and smelt so nice when they found themselves in the middle of a confrontation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Capriccioso

**Author's Note:**

> You don't know how hard I was fighting not to call this "The World is Not Enough."  
> Also, I believe I'm going to write a part two to this. Yes, part two is good.

Alright, this might not be the most pleasant job in the world sometimes, but Belle had to admit- it could be fun. 

The lights in the ballroom were bright enough to be seen from blocks away, people milling in clusters or sneaking off to secluded areas in couples. Staff made rounds with trays of champagne, and people wanting something just a little (or perhaps a _lot_ ) stronger were clustered about the bar near the back. An orchestra was positioned on the stage at the front of the ballroom, playing music softly. And no, she wasn’t at a high-class, black tie event, she was crashing a bloody Wall Street Halloween party. All the greats were out tonight, and a few of the not-so-greats were accompanying them. Oh, but it wasn’t just the business sharks, there were all sorts of men and women in positions of power that were out tonight, including the extremely wealthy and influential, and among them was Belle French. Well, she and her partner, Gaston. He was the small, constant unpleasant part of the job, and currently the man whose arm she was hanging on, however regrettably.

When she’d signed on to do the joint mission with MI6 and the CIA, she hadn’t signed on to work with him. She cursed Melissa for the day she’d paired her up with that bastard. Whatever good intentions her director might have had were thrown out the window as soon as Belle got a good look at his file. He was good looking, not shy on guns, and definitely a smooth talker, but he was also a heartbreaker, and his reputation preceded him. Their first meeting hadn’t gone so well.  
_

“March. Gaston March.” He said, extending his hand with an all-too-practiced smile. Somehow the word “snake” just wouldn’t get out of Belle’s head.

“Arabella French.” She pumped his hand curtly, spreading the case files on the table. Best get down to business.

“When they told me I was being assigned to work with an Australian Interpol agent, I hadn’t expected to see one quite so beautiful as you.” Gaston leaned a little closer, slipping an arm around her waist in a manner that was just a bit too sleazy for her. Belle gently freed herself from his grasp.

“I hear you’re one of the best in the division.” She said calmly, ignoring his comment as she continued to sort out the mess of papers that her director had given her. Melissa, however brilliant, was a very unorganized woman on her best days.

“That I am. And I heard you are very experienced in hand-to-hand combat.” Alright, that was true enough. Hand-to-hand combat was a specialty of Belle’s, but the way he said it made her shiver, and not in a good way. Any kind of response to that could be turned into an innuendo far too easily.

“Mr. March.” Belle said, slapping down the file on the table and turning to face him. He seemed bemused, as if he’d heard this spill before. “I don’t know what your history with women is, but I will not be spoken to as if everything I do is a sexual innuendo. I may be your partner for this mission, but I don’t share your bed, and I don’t ever plan to. Now, if we could please get back to the rather more important matter at hand.” She gestured to the files on the table, and Gaston shrugged, picking up a piece of paper to read over.

“They never plan to…” he muttered, apparently thinking she couldn’t hear him. Belle fixed him with a stare that would stop the Devil in his tracks.

“Now, you listen to me.” She said firmly. “This is not the first time I’ve played nanny for a little boy who thinks that all the girls want him, and if you keep it up, you might just make it the third time I’ve flipped someone over my shoulder and left him with a broken rib or two for his trouble when they got a little bit too handsy.” Gaston looked up, his face unreadable, but definitely considering her words.

“Are we understood?”

“We are.” He turned back to the papers, but Belle was positive that his tone only meant that he thought he was accepting a challenge.  
_

The party was in full swing by the time Belle and Gaston arrived. The theme for this year was a masked ball, which didn’t actually make their job any easier. Everyone’s costumes matched medieval clothing to a tee, and some of the masks even covered their full faces. Gaston was dressed in a slightly ridiculous-looking red tailcoat, complete with tall black boots and a ruffled shirt, and Belle was outfitted in an off-the-shoulder, heavily embroidered, yellow ball gown, complete with an ornate matching mask. The bodice was perhaps just a tad too tight to be truly comfortable, but the fact that the bodice was armored made up for the minor discomfort. Her skirt was just flared enough to hide that, if need be, it would rip away to pants. Belle also had her customary dagger strapped to her thigh- she didn’t like guns and preferred the blade on any occasion. It might be messier, but it was more quiet, and decidedly more useful for getting information. People tended to talk when they saw their blood spilling.

After glancing around the large room, Belle pulled Gaston away from a gaggling group of women and over to a corner, where a man and woman were casting glances their way. They fit the descriptions from the files to a tee: American contacts.

The only reason they were collaborating between countries so well was that the person in question could possibly cause issues that would instigate World War III if he succeeded. Their CIA contacts, Emma Swan and Jefferson Maddock, were meeting them here. For some reason, the department had decided it would be funny to call them by fairy tale code names for this mission, meaning that Emma was Alice, Jefferson was the Hatter, Belle was Beauty, and Gaston was the Hunter. He’d wanted to be the Beast, but Belle had strictly protested against that one. Plus, it was already being used as a codename for Gaston’s current, most dangerous nemesis, Nicholas Gold. No one had ever actually seen him- he was more like a presence, like an automated voice or a shadow, and typically preferred to remain that way. You didn’t deal with Mr. Gold, per say, you dealt with his activities and his assassins and his cryptic voicemails.

Belle forced a smile and began a conversation with the woman in the corner- blonde, dressed in a long purple number, but was likely armed to the teeth in the same manner as Belle.

“The weather’s lovely tonight, don’t you think?” she asked. The woman shrugged.

“It’s pretty drafty in here, but there are clear skies for stargazing.” She said expectantly. The man standing beside her was politely conversing with Gaston, but keeping an ear out for whatever was said. Clearly he had taken the Hatter role quite seriously, as a purple top hat was key feature of his ensemble.

“Why don’t we go take a look?” Belle suggested. They’d known the code word, so yes, these two were probably exactly the agents she was looking for. Emma took Jefferson’s arm and the four of them walked out onto the far balcony, secluded and clear of other company.

The four made general, non-coded small talk for a while, just in case anyone had been listening, and finally branched into the scenario they had come here for.

“I have a bit of a party favor for you.” Jefferson said, pulling a rose from his lapel and extending it to Belle. She took it with a curtsey and tucked it into her bun, knowing that the flower itself was fake, but tucked into the petals was a tiny SD card, complete with all the location files they needed to begin tracking Gold. Combining forces was the only way to do this- the Americans had the records, the British had the systems, and the Australians… well, they had Belle and several other top agents on the case, which was more than enough of a contribution on their part.

“Did you ever wonder why a raven is like a writing desk?” Gaston asked, turning to go. Jefferson laughed, tipping his hat.

“Simple. There is a B in both and an N in neither.” He turned back to the sky, slipping an arm around Emma’s waist. Belle smiled, relieved.

“Time to go.” She whispered, turning towards the doors.

“Ah, not so fast.” Gaston whispered. “We wouldn’t want to arouse suspicion. Have a drink. Relax. Enjoy yourself.”

 _Arouse suspicion my ass_ , Belle thought, as she watched Gaston grab two flutes of champagne and head towards the nearest group of what looked like giggling teenagers, but were likely single women in their twenties. She made a quick trip to the powder room to slide the card from the rose into her pants pocket and dispose of the flower, and then was back out again, sulking in a corner for lack of anything better to do, wishing horribly for a book to read.

Her eyes strayed around the room, looking for something- anything- to occupy her in the large ballroom. There were balconies around the sides, and though they were approaching Midnight on October 31st, no one had tried any pranks or made any slips. Everyone looked suspicious, because everyone _was_ suspicious. It was Halloween, after all, or close to it. 

“So quick bright things come to confusion.” A voice came from behind Belle, and she whirled around to see a thin man clad in some sort of leather breeches and a strange-looking coat standing behind her. He spoke with a rough, deep Scottish brogue, and his mask was plain black, covering only the area around the eyes, light brown hair falling around his face. In his hand he held a dark wood cane, and walked with a very slight limp.

“Excuse me?” Belle asked, recognizing the line from somewhere.

“Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The man explained, stepping closer. “Here were are amongst people who seem either extremely merry or extremely drunk, and yet you scowl in a corner. Shouldn’t you have a date? Be dancing?” He moved like a stage actor as he talked, making gestures with his hands like a magician. The manner was almost entrancing. Belle shook herself mentally, gesturing to Gaston and the group of five or six women crowded around him. 

“A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing.” She scoffed. A Midsummer Night’s Dream was a play she knew well- two could play at this game. The man took one glance over at Gaston and rolled his eyes.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be!” he smiled, and Belle couldn’t help but laugh. She normally wasn’t one to think of anything but business on the job, but Gaston was obviously not of that same mind. Not to mention, he had the car keys. She might as well enjoy herself.

“Extremely true.” She agreed with a nod. “My sisters would love this, though. They’re a lot less bookish than I am.”

“My family is about the same. They usually prefer social events to solitude.” 

“Solitude is nice.” Belle said. It had become something almost like solace in her life as an Interpol agent. Long, lonely nights were usually spent with a bottle of wine and a thick book, and it had almost become a custom of hers.

“It becomes horribly bland after a while, though. I usually sneak out to one of these things when I get tired of it.” He sighed. “It reminds me why I like it so much. Although… it seems tonight is one of the rare times I come by pleasant company.” Despite herself, Belle laughed. His manner was almost flirtatious, and she probably should have been on her guard, but he didn’t make any moves to touch her, and he didn’t look drunk. In fact, he was actually nice to talk to.

“So… does a fellow lover of the Bard have a name?” she teased. Good lord, she felt like a child. She was _working_! The man seemed to be enjoying their game, however. 

“I might say that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, were it not for the fact that we are not currently quoting from that play.” He said thoughtfully. Belle bit back another smile- she always enjoyed intelligent banter, especially when it involved literature. “So, I shall simply say that I am the merry wanderer of the night, and that if you’re looking for my name, I’ll let you guess.”

“Does this mean I get an infinite number of guesses?” she asked, reminded of a particular fairy tale. The night seemed to be taking that turn anyways, so why not let her mind stray in that direction?

“I’ll give you three, if you like.” He said. Belle contemplated it for a moment, deciding on a course of action.

“I’ll save my guesses, and give you the same bargain.” She said carefully. “Let me think on it for a while.”

“The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are all of imagination compact. My name should hardly be any more difficult than anything they can concoct, though I suspect that yours might be more of a mystery.” He smiled and gestured to the glass doors leading outside to one of the balconies. Belle hesitated, but took the hint and walked outside. The stars really _were_ beautiful tonight.

“So, what brings you here tonight if you’re so eager to avoid the company of your date?” her companion asked, fiddling with one of the bushes.

“Adventure, I suppose.” She shrugged. It wasn’t a total lie. “He thought I needed to get out more, but honestly... I’d rather be home with a book.”

“I understand completely.” The man nodded, turning back to her with a single rose in his hands. Belle took it from him hesitantly, realizing he had picked it from the bushes that were growing in pots around the balcony. 

“Roses seem to be a theme tonight.” She mused, remembering his comment earlier.

“A rose suits you. But, if it’s any consolation, I really do _hate_ Romeo and Juliet.” He admitted. Belle smiled, nodding.

“I know! Everyone thinks it’s this great romantic story about tragic love, but it’s really just infatuated teenagers too stupid to realize what they’re doing.” 

“Exactly.” He said pointing a finger as if at a prized student. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream is one of the few comedies I enjoy- give me a tragedy any day; the plots are so much better.”

“Except King Lear.” Belle sighed. “I never could become interested in the three sisters- I always wanted to know about the king’s bastard son. Much more interesting plot, I think.” 

“It’s been many years since I read that one.” He said softly. “I always enjoy the company of the written word, or of those familiar with it.”

“So do I, when there’s no one else around. My job is pretty lonely, actually.” Belle cursed herself for giving anything else away, but often the best lies were based off of truth, so she supposed she should keep going with this particular façade.

“And what would that be, dearie?” he asked, curious. She stared up at the stars, trying to think of something to reply with and simultaneously pick out a constellation.

“The best in this kind are but shadows, and the worst are no worse.” Belle smiled sadly, tucking the rose into her hair where the flower from Jefferson had resided earlier in the evening. 

“If imagination amend them.” The man finished. “Though, if I recall, that phrase is directed towards the actors.”

“It is, and I am… of sorts.” She huffed and muttered under her breath. “All the world’s a stage.” She fiddled with the ribbon fastening down her mask, itching to remove it but knowing she shouldn’t.

“And the men and women merely players. Very true, though I believe that you and I are more honest with the masks than without.” He looked at her with soft brown eyes, and for a short moment, Belle felt something tugging in her chest, but then it was gone as he looked away. 

Before she could comment on his previous remark, he glanced over at the clock, which was about to begin the chiming of midnight. “Would you care to favor an old man with a dance? I requested something a bit special from the orchestra.” he held out his hand, giving a bow. Belle wasn’t sure how he was planning on dancing with that limp of his, but why not?

“It would be my pleasure.” She said, and for once it wasn’t an act. Going to parties and dancing with strange characters was simply a part of her job a lot of the time. She really was an actress as much as a lethal weapon, but for now… she was damn well going to enjoy herself.

As soon as the chiming stopped, the conductor started up the orchestra, and Belle heard the faint plucking of violin strings- twelve times, the chiming of midnight. And then the all too familiar tritones that marked the beginning of what was probably her favorite musical composition, especially at this time of year: Camille Saint-Saens’ Danse Macabre.

The waltz of the dead. How appropriate. 

She smiled brightly as her partner whisked her into the dance, following along with the other pairs of waltzing couples and leaving his cane against the wall. It was a quick tempo, but she knew it would slow in the middle section. It had been so long since she’d truly enjoyed a dance like this, and now, as the music slowed, pressed close against this man who she had only just met, but immensely enjoyed the company of… she was definitely going to make the most of this. He smelled a bit like woodsmoke and ink, and though he was older than she, he was most certainly handsome- even with the mask that was obvious.

But why take an interest in her? Because she was standing alone in the corner? Because she was the pretty woman in a yellow dress and he was… what? The more time she spent with him, the more she got the spooky feeling that he was familiar. It was almost like a V for Vendetta sort of vibe, but… it wasn’t a character that he reminded her of. No, not with his cryptic ways and animated gestures. The biggest difference was the voice, really, but… no. It wouldn’t be.

“Who are you?” she whispered. He responded by spinning her once and then pulling her back to his chest, murmuring in her ear.

“Why are you so curious?” his voice sent shivers down her spine in a way they definitely shouldn’t, not if this was really who she thought it was.

“Because I’m about to use my three guesses.” Belle whispered, and if she wasn’t mistaken his hands wandered around her bodice, pulling her just a bit closer to him. The smell was bordering on intoxicating.

“Alright, then. Go ahead.” He released his hold slightly as the music picked up. 

“Alexander.”

“No.” the spinning stated again, and neither of them could tell if it was the motion or the person they were next to making them so disoriented. She was surprised his leg was holding out so well.

“Michael.”

“No.” he smiled slightly. “One guess left. Best choose wisely.”

Belle pretended to think for a moment, though by this point she had thought it over in her mind. It made sense that he would be here. If he was really as clever as they said, he would probably be keeping tabs on them. As the dance slowed to its close, she leaned forward until her lips were next to his ear, so close he could feel her breath when she spoke.

“Nicholas Gold.”

He froze, pulled away. Belle smiled slightly at his reaction, but it faded quickly as soon as he spoke.

“Arabella French. Australian Interpol agent, currently collaborating with the CIA and MI6. Trying to find more information on me, I presume.” He led her off the dance floor and into a corner of the room. “Yes, dearie. I know much more of you than you do of me, though I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to be such pleasant company.”

“How long have you known?” she asked, keeping her expression calm, as if they were simply making small talk.

“I’d suspected since you first walked in the door, though confirmation came when your partner there stalked off to try to play prince charming. He’s a more infamous character than you might think, and his manners are familiar to me. You?”

“A hunch.” Belle said, scanning his face. His arm still hadn’t left her waist.

“Instinct, you mean. A hunch is a blind guess- instinct is something else entirely.” He waved his hands as he talked, weaving patterns in the air. “Now, listen closely. I don’t enjoy killing people, and I don’t think you do, either. It’s why you pick the knife as your weapon of choice, isn’t it? With a gun you pull a trigger. With a knife the man’s blood is quite literally on your hands. It keeps you sensitized to the death you cause.”

Belle didn’t respond, but he took it as confirmation of his words. Gold gestured to the main entrance.

“See that door? There are several guards standing by it. They all work for me. Should you attempt to capture me or in any way indicate that I am here, then they have orders to shoot. Period. Not _at_ anyone in particular, just to shoot. However, since I really do enjoy your company, I’m willing to make you a deal.”

“A deal?” she raised an eyebrow, glancing towards the doors.

“A bargain. An arrangement. However you’d like to put it.” He shrugged. “If you leave now, and leave quietly, no innocent people have to die.”

“I can’t let you walk away.” She was resolved on that matter, but he did seem to have the upper hand. 

“And you can’t let innocent people die.” 

“You could be bluffing.” She said. It was a true enough statement, but it sounded like a desperate plea. A man as powerful as Gold _doesn’t_ bluff. He chuckled, moving to raise her hand to his lips and placing a courtly kiss on the back of her palm.

“The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve. Lovers, to bed; tis almost fairy time.” He murmured without letting her hand drop. “Your choice, dearie.”  
He’d called her bluff. The blasted charmer had called her bloody, stinking bluff. 

“You may have the upper hand this time, but be assured that we’ll meet again. Through flood, through fire- I do wander everywhere.” She snapped. His brown eyes were still laughing behind his mask. Gold could afford to be merry- whether he was bluffing or not, he truly had the advantage here.

“And though she be but little, she is fierce.” He looked more than a little pleased. “I should like to have met you under other circumstances, Miss French.”

“And I you, Mr. Gold.” Belle conceded. “But, circumstances being what they are, would you kindly allow me to return to my escort?”

“I would. I expect to see you again soon. Please don’t disappoint me- it’s not often I have an adversary both beautiful and extremely intelligent. Though you should really know that it’s not me you need to be worrying about.” He finally let go of her hand, and Belle felt several emotions at once, finally blending them all together into shock as she pulled Gaston away from the crowd, back to get the car. 

“What was that all about?” he asked. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I did, and now it’s time to leave.” She snapped, walking briskly towards their ticket back to the hotel they were spending the evening at. They would send the data to the British HQ overnight to be analyzed, and meet at a secret location tomorrow morning for “The Mad Tea Party,” otherwise known as “Now that we know this, what the hell do we do next?”

“So… really, why the rush? What got your feathers in a ruffle?”

“Nothing.” She muttered, not sure if she was trying to protect lives or her pride. Gaston cut his eyes at her momentarily, and she sighed in defeat. “Fine. Something. Something I don’t really want to talk about.”

Upon arriving at the hotel, they each went to their adjoining rooms. Belle didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in the same room with the man, but the door between them was left open for safety’s sake. However, the moment she stepped into her room, she was greeted by a single red rose on the table. There was a note attached, written in a spidery hand. 

_If we shadows have offended,  
Think but this and all is mended,  
That you have but slumbered here  
While these visions did appear_

And then below it, written in prose.

_And if you should choose not to think in that manner, then I encourage you to pay attention. You may be new to my game, but I assure you that you are set to be a key player._

Rather than dwell on the fact that she’d felt attraction for the man she was supposed to be getting the upper hand on, Belle sighed, tucked the note in her jacket pocket, and collapsed into sleep without bothering to change clothes. 

Even though she hadn’t had anything to drink, Belle was feeling rather dizzy when she awoke. It was about 6AM, and considering her wake-up call was supposed to come in twenty minutes, she simply shrugged, sat up, and went about unlacing herself from the monstrosity of an outfit she’d word last night. Removing the bodice felt like a breath of fresh air, and she could have sworn the skirts alone weighed twenty pounds! She cleaned the makeup off her face and washed the grime of Wall Street off her body and out of her hair with a slightly too-warm shower, leaving her skin soft and pink.

Mr. Gold was still a prominent feature in her thoughts. She really didn’t believe in love at first sight, and she found fairy tales completely ridiculous, but… there was something about him so intriguing. She couldn’t get him out of her head- like a drug, almost- and was even slightly pleased to find that her yellow dress still carried his peculiar scent.  
Belle wasn’t normally one to dress up for work, but today she wanted to make a good impression. Gaston seemed to be of the same mind, because they were both dressed in black pants and dress shirts, looking like business sharks rather than spies.

Which was a good thing, actually. Spies don’t ever want to _look_ like spies- it defeats the purpose of the job, and that’s also what gets you killed.

James Price, the CIA director, Emma, and Jefferson were already waiting on them when they arrived, sitting in a metal-walled room that looked more like a nuclear bunker than a conference room. Apparently they were worried about the security of this place, because there was certainly no way anyone was getting in or out once those doors were open. It was becoming more obvious why Jefferson had gotten his particular code name, as today he was sporting a gray bowler hat.

“Ready for lockdown, Mr. Price?” A female voice came over the intercom.

“Ready. Thanks, Mary-Margaret.” James said, gesturing for Belle and Gaston to sit. They pulled out chairs next to Jefferson and Emma, nodding their hellos. “Alright. Well, this meeting is officially nonexistent, let’s be clear on that to begin with. The room is sealed- nothing gets in or out, not even sound. We have a new transmission that we’ve intercepted from Nicholas Gold, but this one’s a bit different. We’re actually going to let you hear it this time, because he didn’t bother to disguise his voice.” He pulled out a recorder, pressed play, and let the tape roll.

“Suspicions are that MI6 and possibly the Australian Interpol are onto us. We need to cover our tracks carefully from now on. Negotiations are commencing in Russia and Mexico. Soon enough we should spread to France and Spain, though they’re putting up a resistance.” 

James stopped the tape there, noting that it was enough to get the gist of the message. There was something very wrong, though.

“You know… somehow I didn’t imagine him sounding like that.” Jefferson said.

“He doesn’t. That’s not his voice.” Belle said without thinking. The reaction had been automatic- the man on the tape had the wrong pitch, the wrong accent… it most definitely not Nicholas, and she didn’t think that the man at the part had been lying.

“What do you mean that’s not his voice?” Mr. Price was indignant.

“He’s Scottish. That’s not his voice.” She clarified, but only a second later realized that every eye in the room was on her.

“How do you know?” Emma asked. “Nobody’s ever heard him talk. He always acts through secondary means.”

“I know, but… I… met him.” Belle said sheepishly, waiting for the reactions. 

“Wait. You met him? No one meets Gold! Even _I’ve_ never met Gold!” Gaston cried.

“Yep, whatever.” Belle waved her hand dismissively. “The point is that we know that recording wasn’t scrambled, and that definitely was not his voice.”

“So he got someone else to record it for him, then.” James said, as if it was obvious.

“I don’t know.” Jefferson said, glancing at the papers. “Look at this guy’s file. He’s pretty cryptic. I don’t think he’d be the type to just send out a random message like this. He’s too careful, and that was pretty direct.” The intercom fuzzed to life once more, but with a very different voice.

“Quite right, Agent Maddock. I _am_ inclined to be the cryptic sort.”

“How the hell…?” James muttered, face paling. “Get a trace on this! Somebody get on this thing now!”

“Don’t think I can’t hear you, Mr. Price. This room has been sealed remotely. No one can get in or out, and they can’t hear what’s going on inside, as you yourself stated before.”

“What do you want, Gold?” Gaston asked.

“What I want from _you_ , Mr. March, is for you to go back to the playground with the other kids and their spy toys, and leave the real jobs to the real men and women.” He snapped, and Belle fought back a giggle. This was not an appropriate time to giggle at all, even if she knew that the man was not nearly so threatening as he seemed in person… though that could depend on the situation.

“Then _enlighten_ us, please.” Emma said, rolling her eyes. She had always been one to keep calm in even the most bizarre situations.

“What I want is a word with Miss French. Privately.”

“Why?” Belle asked, glancing warily at the security cameras. He was probably looking at the feed from those, too.

“I have some rather important information to pass on to you involving that transmission you intercepted.”

“You knew about it?” James asked, head in his hands. Belle remembered something he’d said to her before- _It’s not me you need to be worrying about_. 

“I’ve known about it for months! Do you think I’m completely daft? I know when someone is trying to pin the blame on me, however sloppily.”

“So why do you want me?”

“Because you’re intelligent, unlike most of this lot, and you’re the only person who has ever seen my face. I’d rather like to keep it that way, dearie.”

“You seriously think we’re going to send Agent French off to meet you- alone?! Are you nuts?” James gestured wildly with his hands, and Belle sighed deeply. That man panicked too easily to be the director of the CIA.

“Yes, I do, and… that matter is debatable, I suppose.” Gold chucked. “Do we have a deal?” James clearly was not even considering the situation.

“Not-”

“Deal!” Belle chimed up. Everyone around the table stared at her openly. “It’s my life on the line. It’s my choice.” she said defensively. No one argued with that one.

“Excellent.” Gold said, and Belle got the impression he was smiling. “You know where to find me.” The intercom clicked off.

“How exactly do we know where to find him?” Emma asked. “Didn’t he just say we’d been tracking the wrong person?”

“No.” Belle shook her head, hair flopping in her face. “He said that we’d been pinning the blame on the wrong person. All the data about where to find him is correct, because it wasn’t based on transmissions, it was based on other intel. Some of the transmissions may have come from him, but all of them probably didn’t. All we have to do is sort back through the data that went into the location and sift out the lines that went with transmission interception, and then we’ll have him.” She said, making notes on a pad.

“You do realize that’s going to take at least another twenty-four hours, right?” Jefferson asked. 

“It’s also going to increase the size of the area we narrow it down to by about five times, but we don’t really have another choice.” Belle said, continuing to make notes.

“What are you writing?” Gaston peered over her shoulder, but he couldn’t make out her cursive. Emma glanced down the list with a smile.

“Don’t forget a whopping power bill.” She added. Belle nodded and jotted it down.

“If the area we’re searching is going to be large, we’re going to need to play Sherlock Holmes with it.” Belle handed the pad to James. “That’s all I can think of. It’s a list of factors that you can use to narrow your search.”

“Large energy consumption, possibly off the grid, likely somewhere away from society.” James looked over the rest of the list, nodding. “This could work.”

“The only problem with this means that all the activity we’ve been registering hasn’t been Gold’s.” Gaston looked positively disappointed. 

“Aww, the poor baby.” Jefferson made a fake pouting face and Emma smirked. 

"If he's really telling the truth, you mean." she said.

“Well, maybe we have a chance to get some information on whose activity it actually is.” Belle said, shrugging. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got him pegged down and ready to arrest him on at least half a dozen charges, if that makes you feel any better.” 

“Either way, you four need to start running those numbers now.” James said, turning to leave. Puzzled looks came over their faces. “We’ve got enough people working for analytics tied up, and since you’re obviously not going anywhere until it’s done… best get going, wouldn’t you say?” he flashed them a teasing smile before exiting.

“Lovely.” Emma sighed. “He _would_ do this to us. Come on, let’s get to analytics and see if we can steal a computer.” 

They spent the rest of the afternoon crowded around a large computer screen, sifting through numbers, double-checking references, and in general being incredibly thankful that they weren’t in analytics. Four people in a small cubicle, however much work they might have gotten done, was not an ideal job, though they supposed they should be thankful that they weren’t working on the problem of how Gold was able to hack into the intercom system. The field was much more their style, and Jefferson was actually starting to get a sort of cabin fever by the time they finally finished going through the piles of data.

“Is that it?” he asked, leaning back in a chair, hat over his face. “Tell me that’s it.”

“Yes. That’s it.” Emma laughed, swiping his hat. Jefferson jumped up to grab it with a smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek quickly as he reclaimed the object. Belle smiled. She’d suspected there was something going on there, but Gaston was oblivious as ever.

“Now we just wait for the people across the pond to crunch the data for us, apply the restrictions Emma and I noted, and we’re in business.”  
_

They had slept at the office on couches that night, waiting for the information to come back, and there had been a red rose waiting on Belle at the front desk when she finally left that night. This time the note read, “ _Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, brief as the lightning in the collied night._ ” Jefferson and Emma had teased her about a secret admirer, casting glances at Gaston, but they had both put them down with such a firm hand that it was actually believable. That didn’t stop the rumor from spreading around most of the building that Belle had a secret admirer, though. It also didn’t stop Belle’s secret smile at the fact that a criminal mastermind had sent flowers for her to the CIA.

The results had come back from Britain around 5AM New York time the next day, and most of Belle’s sleep had been on the plane to get here.

Currently she was speeding down the road on a black motorcycle, dust flying behind her and clouding the air. It had taken a lot of time to convince Gaston that no, he could not go with her, even though yes, he did have the most experience with Gold. She would go alone, as requested, and no, she didn’t think Gold had any intentions of hurting her. The data had wound up pointing them to a remote area in the Scottish countryside that was sucking up a pretty massive amount of power, even for the hundred acres of land that were on the property. Most of the land was undeveloped- in fact, Belle was beginning to think that except for wherever the residence was, it was probably all undeveloped.

It had taken several hours just to get here, between the plane from New York to Scotland, and the long ride into the country via a very tricked out motorcycle, compliments of MI6. She was half afraid to press any buttons on the thing, just in case it accidentally shot off rockets or something (Been there, done that. Not allowed to drive that car any longer).  
The residence of Nicholas Gold looked a lot like a small, ancient castle, actually, but as her instructions indicated, she went around to the back, finding that it was anything but ancient. The grounds gave the illusion of an older family home, probably only seen by tourists and aspiring photographers, but there was also a large steel building set a fair distance from the house, and by her guess… that was where she should go.  
The doors were unlocked, opening up to a room that looked suspiciously like an empty warehouse, but Belle knew better. Gold would be expecting her.

“Ok, come on out boys. I know you’re there.” She called, her voice echoing around the gloomy space.

“Mr. Gold said to be expecting company.” A voice wafted forward from the shadows, and six separate, black-clad shapes came into view. Wonderful. Well, it wouldn’t be easy, but she always enjoyed a challenge.

“I assume you have what I came for?” she asked. One of the men dangled a flash drive in front of his face, in plain view.

“I do. I don’t think I’m going to let you have it, though.” He slipped it back in his pocket.

“Why do they always want to do things the hard way?” Belle groaned, speaking to no one in particular. 

There wasn’t much point in trying to keep track of what went on next. Blurs of black came at her from all sides, but Belle was faster by miles, and managed to outmaneuver them most of the time. Punches were thrown, bruises were acquired on both sides, and Belle was fairly certain she had at least one cracked rib by the time they were through with her, but at the end of the scuffle there were six black-clad bodyguards on the floor, and one Belle still standing. She searched through their pockets until she found the one who had the flash drive.

Something wasn’t right, though.

This wasn’t his style. This was far too direct, wasn’t anywhere near the kind of impression he’d left. She wasn’t finished here yet, and if she wasn’t mistaken…

Strains of violin music played faintly, coming from… Belle walked around the perimeter of the building, trying to figure out where exactly the sound was coming from. As the sound became louder, the tune became clearer. Yes, this was definitely more his style- hidden doorways and dramatic music.

About halfway around the building she noticed a panel that just slightly protruded from the rest of the wall. The seams were easy to see once she noticed the rest of the panel. Now just to find the trigger.

The doorway was old fashioned- pressure sensitive. If you pushed on the right part of the panel a latched clicked and the door slid open. It took her a minute or two to find the right spot, but she wasn’t disappointed to find a narrow spiral staircase on the other side, leading at least two stories down. The music immediately became louder, but at the bottom of the stairs Belle had a chance to look around. Though the lights were low, she got the general gist of the room. It looked like some kind of vast production space, with different levels of wide, railed viewing platforms and computer controls lining the walls. Steel beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and it was evident that the place probably stretched below the house, and went down at least four stories- this was only the top level.

“Danse Macabre? Really?” she called out to the space. He was down here- no doubt about that.

“You like it.” Gold’s voice came from somewhere she couldn’t see.

“I’ll admit it’s inventive.” Belle said. “Any particular reason you wanted me down here?”

“Well, there is this.” The floodlights flicked on to reveal a surprising sight.

“Gaston!” Belle cried. He was hanging over a large rotating fan, held up by a set of chains binding his wrists together. A matching set was wrapped around his ankles. He looked like he’d taken quite a beating. Skilled fighter though he was, sheer numbers would eventually overwhelm anyone. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Well, I rather imagine he was trying to capture me, but he’s managed to screw it up yet again.” Nicholas Gold stepped out of the shadows on the platform one level up from where Belle was standing, a wide staircase connecting them. “Good to see you again, dearie.”

“What happened to not wanting to kill anyone?” she asked, gesturing openly to Gaston.

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing.” Gold stepped forward, leaning on his cane. “I really don’t want to kill him. He’s a bug on my windshield. Not important.”

“And yet I feel like if you wanted me incapacitated, you could have it done with a snap of your fingers.” Belle said, leaning on a rail. She was trying extremely hard not to concentrate on how striking he was- thin, sharply dressed, and his features were even more attractive without the mask. She was also feeling an undeniable urge to run her hands through his hair…

“I could.” He conceded. “I’m not going to.”

“And that’s because?”

“You came here for a purpose, did you not? To get information. You have it. Why not leave us to our chess game?” He continued down the stairs, cane tapping on the metal.

“I’m not going to let you kill him, not matter how much of an ass he might be.” Belle insisted, taking note of the control panel to her right.

“Hey!” Gaston called from the side.

“I’m not the one hanging from chains in the bad guy’s lair right now.” She shot back, silencing him for the moment. Edging her way towards Gold, she left the rail and prayed that she could do this.

“Well, I don’t believe you were lured into spy work for the thrill of the job, were you?”

“Don’t presume you know a single thing about me, Mr. Gold.”

“Have more than thou showest-” Nicholas began.

“Speak less than thou knowest.” Belle finished. “Yes, I’m well aware of that particular proverb, no matter my dislike for the play.”

“Then you should know that I don’t presume anything about you, Miss French. It’s the main reason you’re not hanging up like a piece of meat at this moment.”

“That and the fact that I incapacitated six of your guards on the way here.” She muttered. Mr. Gold nodded, impressed, and gave her a mock round of applause.

“Not bad. I’d heard you were good, but that was just a test round.”

“Meaning there’s more to come?” Belle asked. The two were within spitting distance of each other now.

“Possibly. You’re a clever girl- I trust you’ll figure it out eventually.” He smiled teasingly.

“Oh, and thank you for the flowers.” Belle suddenly remembered. He hadn’t failed to leave a rose yet, no matter where she wound up staying that night.

“Ah, so you _are_ getting them. I thought you might enjoy that.”

“Everyone on the team thinks I have some kind of secret admirer.” She laughed at the absurdity of it. People had showed interest in her before, but a secret admirer was some kind of romantic fantasy.

“Perhaps you do.” Gold mumbled. Belle was standing so close to him that she could smell him again- the strange, intoxicating scent sending a sort of shiver down her spine. Looking up into his eyes, she saw that his pupils were clearly dilated, and almost would have laughed… except that hers were likely behaving the same ways.

“Um, hello?! Dangling over my death, here!” Gaston called from the side. Both their heads turned towards him. “Could we maybe stop flirting for a minute, because I really feel like I’m higher on the list!”

“Yep, about that-” Belle held up a finger, indicating Gaston should wait just a minute, and turned back to Gold. She really, really hoped this plan was going to work. Belle reached up, one hand at the back of his neck, the other pulling him in closer, and kissed him. He made a surprised noise that was muffled by her mouth, but his guard was lost, and he pulled her against him as if by instinct. She smelled like roses- typical. 

Belle almost forgot why she was doing this when he forced her lips apart, tongue vying for entry, and she gave an involuntary little moan, holding onto him in case her legs were to give out.

But wait. She stopped the kiss suddenly when she felt him stumble. 

Gold’s head was cloudy, and not in the way it should have been. It was like he’d been dosed with… with a narcotic. He stumbled backwards, and Belle had the grace to catch him so that he didn’t hit the floor too hard. She rubbed her hand across her face, peeling something off- false lips. Damn it, she’d drugged him!

The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was her face above him, mouthing ‘I’m sorry.’

“Ok!” Belle rose from the floor, an unconscious Nicholas Gold lying by the staircase. She ran over to the controls, looking for anything that might stop the rotating fan. Unlike all the movies, usually the bad guys didn’t have large, red, exceedingly obvious switches. It had taken her less than her first twenty minutes of field work to figure that one out. 

She shook herself, trying to get over the euphoric feeling that was clouding her head. She had only kissed him in order to knock him out. That was it. No more. The switch wasn’t too hard to find but now she had to get the stupid man down from there, which meant loosening the chains… ah ha! 

Ok, so the bad guys didn’t usually leave keys and giant red buttons in their path, but sometimes you got lucky. This was one of those times. She probably could have improvised a lock pick for the large padlock on the chains if she needed to, but luckily there was a key lying on the table, and judging by the rusty state of both key and padlock, they probably went together.

“I’ve got the key! Just give me a second and I’ll get you down.” 

“Sounds good to me!” Gaston called. Belle looked around, trying to find a ladder or some way to get up to the beam. If they put him up there, they must have dragged him. There had to be an access somewhere… but there wasn’t time to look for one. It was probably only a matter of time before the six guards from before woke up, or even worse- six more fresh guards came to see what was going on. Belle made her way up to the platform that Gold had emerged from, a plan forming in her head.

In training her nickname had been Catwoman, and it wasn’t inaccurate. From the upper platform there was enough room to stand on the rail and jump up to the beam, and she could probably swing herself up to walk on it… if she gauged it properly. Risky as it was, there really wasn’t time to figure out anything else, so with a shrug, she hoisted herself up onto the rail. What was the worst thing that could happen, right? Ok, no. Bad thought. The worst thing that could happen involved falling and breaking her neck on the rail, and she preferred not to dwell on things like that before making jumps. Heights were ok, falling was not.

“Ok, Belle.” She muttered. “One… two… three!” Two steps and a leap, and her hands automatically reached up to grasp the wide steel beam. There was a jolt, and she was hanging over the platform, fingers stinging from holding her weight. She started to swing back and forth, bringing herself up at enough of an angle to get a leg over the bar, and soon she was sitting on top of it, looking at Gaston from fifteen feet over.

From there on out the task was fairly simple. She slid along the bar until she reached the hook that Gaston was hanging from, and suddenly realized how they got him out there in the first place. The thing was made to slide along whatever beam it was attached to, and with a little urging from Belle, was rolling back towards the upper platform. Belle unlocked the chains and Gaston dropped the last four or five feet to the floor with a groan.

“Thanks for that.” He said, stretching his arms. They were probably sore- he’d been hanging there at least twenty minutes.

“No problem.” Belle brushed off her hands, looking over at Gold regretfully. She really hadn’t wanted to do that, but it was sort of a necessary evil. “Let’s get out of here.” Gaston followed her down the stairs and back out the way she came in. the guards were still out cold, thank goodness, and the whole ending seemed just a bit anticlimactic….

Suspiciously anticlimactic. 

Belle had a stinking feeling that this whole affair was hardly over. 

“So… you kissed Gold.” Gaston said suddenly, looking over at her. He was trying extremely hard not to laugh.

“And?” Belle asked, voice flat. 

“And you were _flirting_ with Gold.” He pointed out. Belle rolled her eyes and walked over to where she’d parked the motorcycle, throwing Gaston an extra helmet.

“Oh, you’re kidding me.” Gaston laughed, but his tone was a cross between amused and insulted. “You _actually_ have a thing for him, don’t you?! My god- you do! What does he have that I don’t have? You do realize he’s old enough to be your father, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She straddled the bike, indicating that Gaston should get on behind her, but he stood his ground.

“Oh, come on. I saw that kiss- there was definitely tongue involved.” 

“Do you want a ride or not?” Belle asked, impatient, but she was glad the helmet was covering her face.

“Alright.” Gaston held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, fine. But we are not done talking about this, young lady.”  
_

“That’s it? That’s all he gave you?” James asked, taking the flash drive from her hands. Gaston remained suspiciously quiet. Perhaps he was attempting to be nice, but more likely he was taking very seriously Belle’s threat to rat him out for trying to take on her job if he breathed a single word about the kiss to anyone.

“That’s it.” She said. “I assume you’ll want to go through the files together.”

“Yes.” He nodded, motioning for her to follow. Emma and Jefferson were paged, and the group went through the files on a secure computer.

“These are all about someone named… Regina Mills?” Emma scanned a few pages on the screen, and then moved to the next file. “And there’s a few on Sydney Glass. Those names mean anything to anyone?” Blank faces all around. Completely unfamiliar to any of the agents, but James immediately ordered that the names be cross-referenced with databases in both Britain and Australia.

More waiting. 

Belle sighed, exasperated. This was probably going to take at least a couple of hours, and this whole “waiting around for information” bit really wasn’t her style. She much preferred to find out things for herself, but considering they were collaborating between countries, and she was stuck here for the time being, she might as well find something to occupy her time. 

On her way out the door, Mary-Margaret stopped her. She was a sweet, dark-haired woman, whom James most definitely had his eye on. 

“Belle! This came for you this morning.” She handed her a long, thin package, and Belle knew exactly what was inside. The flowers weren’t near so special as the notes that accompanied.

_Ill met by moonlight, Titania._

_How does 11:00 sound? Rooftop._

Mary Margaret burst into fits at that, giggling excitedly and begging for information. Belle wasn’t exactly sure what Gold was planning, but she thought it might be worth checking out. He seemed like a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it, but not in the same way Gaston was. He was a charmer, but he was old fashioned and, age be damned, he was definitely attracted to her, and she couldn’t say otherwise about him.

And she knew exactly which rooftop he meant.  
_

At 11:00 sharp, Belle unlatched the roof access to the hotel roof, and was quite unsurprised to find Mr. Gold waiting on her, standing very still and gazing at the stars.

“I thought you might be up here, Mr. Gold.” She said.

“Call me Nicholas.” He corrected with a smile. 

“Only if you’ll call me Belle.”

“Well then, _Belle_ ,” he came just a bit closer to where she stood. “I do have a question to ask you. Are you familiar with a quote by Winston Churchill that says that every man does what he must in spite of personal consequences? It’s a rather interesting bit to think on.” 

“I’m well aware that every good person has a dark side… Nicholas.” She honestly wasn’t sure where he was planning on taking this. 

“Then you’re also well aware that even a man presumed to be purely evil must have some kind of morality.” 

“Oh, don’t start with me on the morality debate.” Belle rolled her eyes.

“Nothing is black and white, dearie, as you know better than most. Tell me, was I right about the knife?” he asked, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

“You were.” She admitted. “I was never fond of pulling a trigger and having a bullet kill for you. If you’re to take a man’s life you do it with your own two hands, and you clean his blood off your blade.”

“And that’s your morality trip.” Gold nodded. “Mine is making deals.”

“Deals?” That was interesting. Plot twists were always fun, and it seemed that Nicholas Gold was one big plot twist.

“Such as the one we made at the party the night we met, and the one I’m about to offer you now.”

“Alright. I’m listening.” Belle said, turning to face him.

“I think it’s rather obvious that I… enjoy your company.” He said hesitantly. “I’m not asking for a romantic relationship, but I wonder if you’d be interested in spending some time together. Outside work, that is.”

“You mean… outside you as the criminal mastermind and me as the secret agent trying to bring you down?” Belle smiled. 

“Yes, outside that.” Nicholas laughed, eyes flitting across her face. “Are you willing to entertain a man whose moral prospects don’t always keep along the straight and steady path?”

“That depends. What’s the condition?” Belle was careful to keep her expression blank. The obvious answer was yes, but she didn’t know if she was willing to comply with whatever he wanted. Actually, the smart answer would probably be “not in any way, shape, or form,” but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Romantic or no (and every single fiber of her being was practically screaming at her that it was romantic), this was the first man in a very long time that she’d really had anything in common with.

“Secrecy. Better for both of us, I think.” He said curtly. Belle made a show of thinking about it for a moment. 

“Deal.” She extended her hand and they shook on it.

“Fantastic. When can I see you again?” Nicholas asked, attempting to keep the satisfaction out of his tone. Belle checked her watch.

“How about tonight? I mean, assuming you don’t have plans.” She said. “I have a bottle of wine and several good books waiting on me in my room, but I think I could be persuaded to entertain some company.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” 

They walked back towards the hatch that led inside from the roof, but Belle stopped suddenly.

“Is it wrong of me to feel like I should be arresting you?” Belle turned to him. As much as she liked the man… he _was_ wanted in most of the world for various crimes, including embezzlement, treason, and murder.

“I wouldn’t expect it any other way.” Nicholas said. “But look at it this way, dearie: I’m off the clock. You’re off the clock.” Hmm… this could work. It would be tricky, but it was definitely a valid excuse. Government agents typically had long hours, but she thought she’d be willing to shorten hers a bit.

“Why the morality trip, though? Was this… were you seriously just trying to ask me on a date?” If he was, it was definitely something. Most people picked much more laughable material to start their conversations with.

“Well… I needed something to lead off with.” He shrugged, eliciting a soft sigh from Belle. She didn’t quite know what this was yet, but it was the start of a very beautiful… something.


	2. Pesante

“You’re sure you’re alright with this?” Nicholas asked. 

“Of course I am.” Belle rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I can handle my own affairs.” It was the same question every time he dropped by, which was easily twice a week, sometimes more. He wouldn’t tell her why he was still in town, but as of now she wasn’t complaining. 

Currently they were nestled on the sofa in her hotel room, facing a set of large windows that overlooked the city. Mr. Gold had quickly adapted her habit of reading with a glass of wine, and most nights they simply picked something from her stack of books and read. Belle poured two glasses and nestled into the couch cushions, having closed the door connecting her room to Gaston’s… just in case.

Nicholas picked up the volume he’d been nursing over the last month, and they settled into reading, his arm around Belle’s shoulders and her head resting against his chest, noses buried in separate volumes. He had been over several times since their initial rooftop engagement to share a bottle of Burgundy and the silent company of one who understood just how comforting silence was. They would read together, occasionally making conversation, learning bits and pieces about one another, but he had never suggested anything more than companionship, which was both comforting and disheartening to Belle.

They normally didn’t do much talking during these times. It was a sort of loner’s affair, really- two people who needed each other desperately and understood that that didn’t need each other, all at once. Occasionally they shared stories of their past, though neither of them disclosed anything readily. 

Nicholas knew a little about her money troubles at home, and how supporting her family was part of the reason she’d taken the job at the Interpol. He knew about how frivolous her sisters could be, and how she loved them and was annoyed by them all at once, but not their names or where they lived. Belle knew about his tendencies to be impatient and quick to anger, and she knew that he’d once tried to go into economics, then politics, and failed at both (She didn’t see _how_. The man was practically a genius.)

In all this time, though, he’d never tried to suggest anything romantic. The attraction was there- she could absolutely feel it, but Nicholas hadn’t acted on it. However decidedly un-subtle their flirting was, he had definitely not made any obvious passes like Gaston had. He’d never even tried to kiss her since their last business encounter. They could sit like this, with his arm around her shoulder and her listening to his heartbeat, and feel perfectly content, but… it didn’t feel right. It felt like some sort of strange in-betweener’s dance that was tottering off the edge of friendship, but not quite falling.

Meaning that there was something she had to do if she ever wanted to figure out where this was headed.

“Belle? Everything alright?”

She looked up suddenly, realizing she’d been fidgeting. It was definitely time to do something about this. 

“I… never apologized properly for knocking you out.” 

“Belle, I’ve told you. It’s part of the job, and you’ve said you’re sorry at least a hundred times.” He smiled reassuringly, looking down at her for a moment.

“I feel like I should make it up to you, though.” Belle muttered. Gold opened his mouth to respond, but she tilted her face up to stop him with a kiss. It was short, sweet, and very chaste compared to their previous kiss, but she hoped her intentions were clear. His arm dropped from around her shoulders to cup her jaw, a crooked smile playing on his face.

“Well, if that’s the case, I assure you that being out cold was well worth it.” 

From that point on their relationship took a new turn.

Oh, they hadn’t gone so far as sleeping together, but their nights together became more frequent, and they spent far less time reading than before. Belle would babble about something for a few minutes while Gold nodded and digested the information, and then they would likely launch into an all-night discussion over some point or another. Neither of them were eager to turn this into anything more than some kind of teenager’s summer fling, but for now that was alright.

One night they’d actually talked it through. It was most likely that this relationship would probably never last, but that was alright. What they had was something less like a love and more like a friendship, something that allowed them to have companionable company, and every now and then also allowed for a kiss or two. It blurred the line between lover and friend, something that happened in a sort of in-between way that was both comfortable and felt off-balance all at once.

Some days Belle would come to work looking a bit worse for the wear for lack of sleep, and Nicholas would go off to whatever he was going looking about the same, having stayed up late talking and only realizing it when the sun rose. People around the CIA office, where the search for Regina Mills and the decryption of the files on Mr. Gold’s flash drive was in progress, were beginning to wonder why Belle never went out. Previously, they had simply accepted the fact that she was fairly introverted and liked to stay home with a book after her field work, but that was before the day she forgot to take care of the stubble burn after one of their rare, more affectionate moments.

Whether he saw her that day or not, the roses kept coming, and she wondered if this was just a thing that billionaire criminal masterminds did- send roses with cryptic quotes to their significant others. 

“People are becoming mildly suspicious.” Belle chuckled. “It’s like they think I have a social life.” It had been about two weeks since the night he first kissed her in the hotel room, and almost a month and a half since the encounter across the pond. 

“I know the feeling. Our line of work is a… difficult one to say the least. Lonely at best.” Nicholas said. That seemed to be their mutual tie, loneliness. It was what brought them together in the first place, the need to be lonely and not to be lonely. Belle picked up a book from the stack, more out of habit than intent to read it.

“My sisters called me the other day to ask how I was, and I was thinking, ‘Yeah, I’m fine, I’m over here trying to avert World War III. How’s grandma?’” she sighed, thinking of how insane her sisters would think she was if they knew the truth. Her mother was the only one who knew as much of the information as Belle could tell her, and only because they had a bargain: Belle told her everything she could, and her mother didn’t lie about how her heart was faring.

“What do they think you’re actually doing?” Nicholas seemed to be either extremely comfortable, or composed enough to hide that he was feeling uncomfortable. 

“Working for the government.” She shrugged. “The general speculation is a lawyer, I think.” Belle’s tried to avoid staring once more, but that only wound up with her eyes flicking frantically over the room. “Do you have any family?” She was almost hesitant to ask- personal questions weren’t her forte.

“I do- a son. We don’t communicate much, which is probably better for him, actually.” Gold admitted. Belle didn’t speak, giving herself time to digest the information. A son. Was he married? Questions were forming rapid-fire inside her mind, but he quieted them quickly. “I don’t keep in touch with his mother, either. The marriage ended badly- messy affair.” He added quickly, clearing his throat.

Oh. Well, then. 

“What’s wrong, dearie?” Nicholas asked, moving his hand to rest on her knee. “You’ve been on edge all evening.”

“Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.” She said, shrugging. Gold knew better, though.

“You know, if you’re not comfortable-”

“No, it’s just…” Belle sighed. “We talk all the time, and I feel like we know each other well, but… we don’t really know very much about each other, do we?” she tucked her knees up to her chest, curling up in a sort of defensive position across from him on the couch. It had been a sort of agreement- a type of closed friendship, but rather than making things easier, it made them more difficult. It would be easier for two people who just wanted company, but this was quickly turning into something more than company… even if they happened to have conflicting job interests. The past was something that was difficult for both of them to talk about, but it needed to be said sometime.

“I’m willing to talk if you are.” 

Belle looked up suddenly. Nicholas was gazing at her evenly, honestly. In the past it was an unspoken thing that they wouldn’t divulge any more than the bare minimum about their lives, but if he was ready to alter that bargain… That meant he trusted her.

That meant he might want more than this infuriating in between state.

Her hear was leaping in her chest with a will of its own. Then again, that was probably a bad idea- a very bad idea. There was far too much potential for everyone to get hurt in this, and some part of her had known that from the beginning. It was dangerous work, and dangerous work demanded to be taken slowly. Belle dropped her eyes, unsure of what to say, but he took the hint.

“I see.” He said, nodding. “Another time, then.”  
_

The search for Regina Mills and Sydney Glass was going nowhere fast. Even with the files on the drive that Nicholas had given them, there wasn’t anything they could get a solid trace on. The analytics team was working on it, and the four field agents assigned to this case were all working frantically to scout out any possible leads or places she might have been seen, but it all amounted to very little in the grand scheme of things. After two weeks of searching, James announced that it was time to put the backup plan in motion.

The backup plan wasn’t exactly a backup plan.

It was more like a last resort.

Mr. Gold came to visit the CIA under armed guard a few days later. They didn’t have any solid evidence against him, but they did have enough to put him on the watch list. The issue? His condition for helping them was that he remain absolutely untouched for the duration of his visit, and that if he could successfully lead them to Regina certain charges would be dropped. James had very ( _very_ ) grudgingly agreed.

Not that Belle minded at all. It made things decidedly harder in the way of concentration, but if there was going to be a very attractive, witty man across the table from her over these next few days, she wasn’t going to protest of he just _happened_ to be on the CIA watch list.

And MI6.

And the Interpol.

And several other agencies.

Ok, so maybe she should have protested. However, when Mr. Price noted that they had a new, reliable source of information about this Regina person and where to find her, she had hardly expected it would be Nicholas Gold. The compiled databases of the Australian Interpol, the CIA, and MI6 could come up with precious little information about Regina, and all of it was public. Birth certificates, information about her parents (dead), divorce records, and other little tidbits that were relatively pointless in their situation. Apparently Ms. Mills was a very private sort of woman.

“Good morning, all.” Nicholas said, stepping through the doors and into same metal-walled conference room from before. The place was beginning to look more and more like a prison. Belle was stunned, but she wasn’t alone. Gaston looked as if he was about to leap from his chair, though Emma and Jefferson simply seemed confused.

“Agents French, March, Swan, Maddock… meet Nicholas Gold.” James said, adjusting his tie. He seemed intensely uncomfortable with the situation, but dismissed the guards to wait outside the doors, arguing that there were four perfectly deadly field agents in the room. If they couldn’t take him then what’s the point in putting guard on him, anyways? They left reluctantly, and the two CIA agents were now sufficiently in awe.

“Ok, you do realize that he’s the bad guy, right?” Gaston asked, gesturing to Gold, who feigned being offended dramatically. Gaston glared. “Am I the only one who realizes that?”  
By this time, Belle had recovered from her shocked state enough to speak.

“An overflow of good converts to bad.” She muttered.

“What the hell does that mean?” Gaston turned to her, annoyed, but Gold risked a small, crooked smile.

“It means we need him.” She slammed her palms on the table angrily, picked up the papers, and waved them in his face. “You see this? This is the complete compilation of any and all information we have on Regina Mills. Considering he’s the one who tipped us off, we might want to give him a chance. Or do you _want_ to be the cause of the next World War?” Belle looked around the table, glancing at each person in turn until her eyes rested on her partner. Her argument had seemed enough to shut him up, and Jefferson was even nodding in agreement.

“In that case, have a seat, Mr. Gold.” Agent Maddock pulled out the chair across from Belle, and Gold sat, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

“What have you got so far?” he asked, pulling the papers towards him.

“We know when she was born and who her parents were.” Emma began. “There are some job records-” Mr. Gold cut her off, laughing. 

“What’s funny?” James asked.

“You know nothing.” He tossed the copies over his shoulder and they fell to the floor in a flutter. “Your most valuable asset isn’t even in this room!”

“And what would our most valuable asset be?” Mr. Price asked slowly. Gold sighed, leaned back in his chair, and launched into his story. It was extremely hard for Belle to keep from staring, actually, and even harder to focus on what he was saying.

“I have known Regina Mills for far longer than I care to think on, admit, or even have lived, actually. She’s not a very pleasant person to be around.” Gaston rolled his eyes.

“What does your life story have to do with- OW!” there was a sharp rap from under the table, and it was quite obvious that the MI6 agent had just received a smack from Mr. Gold’s cane.

“Hush, boy! This isn’t my life story, otherwise you’d be asleep already. Now, Regina was engaged twice, married once, and then divorced. It was a rather messy kind of scandal- money probably changed hands several times in all of it- but the point is that she was her husband’s second wife. His name was Leopold White, and he had one daughter by his first wife, who was left grieving for him at the end of their marriage. Regina had it out for her so badly that she changed her name.”

“You know where she is, don’t you?” Belle asked, suspicious.

“I do.” Gold nodded. “And so do you. She’s rather a pretty woman, but I think Mr. Price is probably well aware of that, considering he passes her every morning at the front desk.”

“What?” James shook his head. “That’s impossible. Everyone in this building went through extensive background checks-”

“And you think I’m not capable of pulling strings when I need to?” Mr. Gold scoffed. “Regina was out for blood. This was the safest place the girl could possibly be. Ms. Mills likes to work in subtle ways, and killing a CIA worker is not subtle, however minor the position might be.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Emma asked, suddenly catching on.

“I don’t get it.” Gaston shook his head.

“Perhaps if you would look past the fact that your adversary of five years is spouting the information, you might actually understand!” he snapped, cane banging the floor in punctuation. “When she moved out and changed her name, she changed from Samantha White to Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

The room fell silent, and Belle was suddenly very glad that no one could hear what was going on. Moments in here were becoming more and more complicated, and intensely… well, awkward. There really was no way to put that poetically, as much as she tried.

“I think it’s time for a lunch break.” James cleared his throat and stood.

“It’s ten-thirty.” Belle said, checking her watch. 

“Then a _brunch_ break. Look, I’ll go get Mary Margaret, and we’ll reconvene in an hour.” The director stood and gathered his files into his briefcase. “And since you don’t want to go, you can baby sit our guest, Agent French.” This time it was Gaston who started to protest, but James would have none of it, ushering all of them out of the room. Gaston shot a glare back at Gold as he left.

As soon as the other four had left the room, and the door was shut, Belle stood, moving around to the other side of the table to sit beside him. She was fighting the urge not to laugh at Gaston’s reaction, cutting her eyes towards the door. Nicholas smiled, catching her drift.

“The fool doth think he is wise…” he muttered. Before he could say anything further, Belle remembered something- the room was no longer sealed. Security cameras had been taken out since the breach last month, but the intercom was necessary. They could still be heard.

She grabbed a pen and her yellow legal pad from the other side of the table, scribbling something on it quickly before handing it to Gold.

 _Careful what you say. They can hear us._ He nodded once before handing her the paper back, understanding perfectly. They may have a more open relationship now, but it was better for them both if they kept it a secret, in light of Belle’s job and Mr. Gold’s reputation.

“Brevity is the soul of wit.” He said playfully. Belle allowed herself to smile at that- she knew what game he was playing.

“Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.” She said. She wasn’t thinking of a particular play this time, just something that would allow them to have a conversation of sorts.

“Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.” Where exactly did he store all these quotes? Belle had an excellent memory, but she was having trouble thinking of the proper responses.

“I’ll say.” Belle mumbled, but Gold caught it and laughed. He wouldn’t have known quite how to respond to that, but was saved as the doors opened from the outside. The room was no longer sealed, and people could come and go as they pleased. They immediately pushed apart, leaning back in their chairs as if scrutinizing each other.

It was Ashley Boyd, one of the new interns, carrying a box in her arms.

“Hi…” she said slowly, looking around the room. “I’m going off to lunch soon, but I brought you this.” As soon as she handed her the package, it was obvious what it was. A rose.

“Thanks, Ashley.” Belle said, assuming that Mary Margaret had probably been spreading tales about her mysterious roses. She opened the box and slipped the note out, unfolding it to read the message. As much as she tried, Belle couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto her face.

“What does it say?” Ashley asked, curious. Mr. Gold smirked out of the corner of her eye. With a sigh, Belle opened the note and read it out loud.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.” She willed her eyes not to flick over to Nicholas, but instead to rest on Ashley, who sighed dramatically.

“That’s so romantic.” She seemed to stare off into space for a second, and then looked over at Mr. Gold, like she was noticing his presence for the first time. “Um… well, they told me you guys were kind of stuck in here, so… can I get you anything?” 

Belle and Mr. Gold both politely declined, but thanked her, and she walked out of the room. Well, actually, it was probably more accurate to say she bounced out of the room.

“No doubt that will be all over the building by the end of lunch.” Belle shrugged.

“Do you get those often?” Nicholas asked. He knew the answer, of course, but they were playing a very delicate game around the active microphones in the room.

“Every day.” She smiled. “Nobody around here has a clue who they’re from, but I’m pretty cure Mary Margaret has most of the office waiting around to hear whatever the next note says.”

“Are they always so cryptic?” he chuckled, knowing that they were usually far more cryptic than the one today, and not always from Shakespeare. The quotes were a little game, a dance between them, and sometimes no one would be able to catch the significance of one unless they had heard a prior conversation.

“Usually.” She leaned forward in her chair just a bit more, and Nicholas copied her motion as he spoke.

“And… have _you_ managed to deduce who these flowers are coming from?” he was teasing her, but there was no one here to see the looks on their faces. They could only hear voices. He was close enough that she could smell his familiar scent, very nearly feel his breath on her lips when he spoke, and he was absolutely daring her to do something about it.

“I have an idea.” Belle had the undeniable urge to kiss him, but she found some measure of sanity in her that said they were still in the CIA offices. Not the best idea.  
Maybe later, though.

_

After their little break Mr. Price came back, escorting Mary Margaret, who seemed even more pale than usual… if that was humanly possible, that is.

“Mary Margaret Blanchard, you are officially sworn to secrecy. Nothing said in this room ever leaves this room.” James spoke in monotone, as if he’d said it hundreds of times. It was standard procedure for confidential meetings.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on?” she asked. James gently made her sit in a chair as Mr. Gold began to speak.

“Six years ago you started poking around with name changes, looking for a fresh start. There was a file on your doorstep one morning that gave you all the information you needed to wipe Samantha White off the face of the earth and start completely over again. There was a note attached that said ‘Take the file, and don’t ask why. Let’s just say… I’m invested in your future.’”

“Who are you?” Mary asked, eyes wide. “How do you know that?” she looked like she was about to jump out of the chair and run across the room.

“I’m Nicholas Gold, an old acquaintance of your stepmother’s, and I sent you that file.” He was trying to keep his tone even, but that didn’t help Mary Margaret. She was obviously not taking this well.

“Why? Aren’t you on the wanted list in like, twenty different countries?”

“That’s beside the point.” Nicholas groaned. He hated being reminded of how many people probably had a veritable price on his head- not that they could even touch him with a fifty foot pole, but it wasn’t a pleasant thought. “You do need to know that Ms. Mills has had a little recurrence in activity over the last several months, and she’s been trying to pin it on me.”

“And what exactly am I going to do? I don’t know anything about her- I’ve been trying to get _away_ from her for the last six years!” 

“She knows where you are. Trust me when I say that it would be in your best interest to do as they ask. We need you for the most crucial, and unfortunately, the most dangerous job there is.” Gold paused, as if waiting for the others to catch up with his thought process. Belle was already there, but she wasn’t sure about the wisdom of this plan.

“No.” Emma said almost immediately. “I know where this is going, and I won’t let her do it. She’s not trained-”

“She’ll learn.” Nicholas was beginning to look frightening. Every now and then there was a flash- a flicker of something dark that seemed so horrible that it couldn’t possibly be real, couldn’t be natural… Something that a situation had driven him to, or some other reason, but it was impossible to put a finger on.

“Or she’ll be killed!” the blonde snapped. She was almost like a sister to Mary Margaret, and this wasn’t going to go over well with her.

“Regina works in small ways- she’s tricky, and she’s slippery, and she’s utterly without mercy, but she has an overpowering instinct to protect her own skin. There isn’t any other way to get her out of the shadows except to lure her. You know what she’s capable of- you’ve read the files.”

“I won’t let you use her as bait!” Emma’s fist came down on the table, shaking the structure slightly and terrifying everyone except Mr. Gold and Jefferson. The Hatter looked quite impressed, actually.

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” Nicholas said quietly, shaking his head. “And they’ve taken the form of one Regina Mills.”

“Look-” Agent Swan was on edge now, and he was breaching into dangerous territory, but that didn’t stop Nicholas from pressing on with his soliloquy.

“Miss Swan, you have to realize that you’re dealing with potentially the most dangerous woman you’ve ever met and her doting sidekick, but if you want to get rid of her for good you’re definitely going to need two things.”

“And those two things are you and Mary Margaret?” Jefferson asked, hoping to give Emma a chance to cool down.

“Very much so, Agent Maddock. I’m glad _someone_ seems to be catching my drift.” Nicholas made a flitting gesture with one of his hands. He never could control his theatrics well once he was on a roll.

“Why should we believe you? You could be in league with her- if you wanted to help us you could have given us all the information on that drive Belle recovered.” Gaston chimed in. It was a valid point. Mary Margaret was practically shaking by now, but Nicholas was steady, even _calm_.

“When two parties each have something the other wants, a deal can always be struck.” He looked around the table as he spoke, gazing at each person in turn. “I gave Miss Blanchard the file because she was an innocent bystander in a twisted woman’s schemes, and I knew that if Regina ever resurfaced we would need her help. The drive Agent French secured was simply a teaser- I’m offering you the rest of the information in return for a full wipe.”

“As in… everything?” James asked. Some of the records had been cleared simply for his cooperation today, but a full wipe would mean doing some very tricky negotiating with other countries, and a lot of other business he didn’t want to get his hands into. However, if Regina was really dealing with weapons, as their reports indicated, World War III was probably worth it. Mr. Gold unconsciously fiddled with his cane as he spoke.

“Yes. A fresh start for me, and allowing Miss Blanchard to continue on with her life as normal after all is said and done… assuming she agrees?” Mr. Gold turned to Mary Margaret, whose expression had slipped from panicked into a forced, determined calm.

“I never had any proof, but I always… I always thought she killed my father, and I know for a fact that she’s killed hundreds in her time. Nobody can bring back all the lives she’s shattered.” She said, eyes flicking between Mr. Gold and James. “If I help you, do you think you’ll honestly have a better chance of bringing her in?”

James looked away, obviously just as opposed to the situation as Emma was. She was untrained, and it was obvious he cared about her safety. However, he knew what the answer was.

“Well, since no one else seems like they want to say it, I’ll tell you that the answer is _yes_. We don’t know of anything else that she’d be looking for except you. So, before we continue… what’s the verdict, Mr. Price?” Nicholas looked pointedly at the director, who remained silent and motionless, thinking.

“You can’t seriously be considering-” Gaston started to shoot down the idea altogether.

“I am. Our information is limited, and not all of it is useful. If she’s as slippery as he says, then there’s only so much we can do without help.” James sounded like he truly hated the prospects, but this was the only route left.

“But-”

“If you don’t want to participate in this mission any longer we can send you back to MI6 and ask for someone more cooperative. I’m sure they’ll oblige. We are out of options, Agent March.” His tone was low and threatening, blue eyes fixing Gaston with a predatory glare.

“Is that a yes?” Nicholas asked, after a moment’s pause, his playful tone present through the tension in the room.

“That’s a yes.” James said. “For now. If anything goes wrong I’m holding you _personally_ responsible.”

“Well, in that case we’d best get to work, don’t you think?” Nicholas growled. He was doing them a tremendous favor with this- they’d better not let him down. Belle was, unsurprisingly, the first to break the silence after that remark.

“Mary Margaret… why does Regina want to kill you?” she asked gently. It wasn’t exactly a subject you bring up in casual conversation, but Mary Margaret simply took a deep breath and started her tale.

“My mom died when I was really little, so… my father remarried. He thought I needed a mother figure. The only issue was that Regina had basically married him for his money- her mother had pressured her into it, I think- and she wound up having an affair.” She blinked a few times, as if shaking herself out of a trance. “I remember catching them together. And at first I didn’t say anything, but… then I figured out that Regina wasn’t as good as she said she was.”

“So you exposed her?” Belle asked.

“I was nine!” Mary Margaret cried. “I just knew she wasn’t nice and she was cheating on my father. I didn’t know it was going to ruin her life, and I definitely didn’t know she was a wanted criminal.”

“Slippery.” Gold said under his breath. Belle shot him a glare before turning back to Mary Margaret, placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“And that’s why she wants to kill you?” Jefferson seemed to be slowly picking apart the information- you could practically see the wheels turning in his mind just by the look in his eyes.

“Yes.” The raven-haired woman shook her head, guilty. She hated pinning her problems on other people, but it seemed there wasn’t a choice at present. 

“She needs training.” Agent Maddock said with a nod. “Even if it’s nothing more than how to fire a gun accurately, she needs something.”

“Agreed.” Emma said grudgingly. “I still don’t like it, but-”

“Agent French?” the intercom came through suddenly, startling everyone. James went positively pale.

“This is a sealed discussion-” James began, but the voice cut her off.

“There’s a call for you from Australia- this is a one-way transmission, so we can’t hear you, but you might want to come up front. Apparently they patched them through somehow. He says it’s urgent.” Belle went cold. Her father knew that she worked unpredictable hours- he usually just called her cell and left a message when he wanted to speak with her, and he wouldn’t have told anyone to phone her directly unless there was something wrong. Maurice’s version “urgent” was another man’s “desperate.”

She immediately jumped up and ran for the doors, pulling them open as fast as she could. When she reached the front desk she was out of breath, and she hoped- prayed- that the reason he was calling wasn’t what she thought. The secretary handed her the phone, and she skipped over introductions entirely.

“What’s wrong?”

“Miss French?” A confused, unfamiliar voice responded. She’d assumed it would be her father calling, but it wasn’t so.

“Yeah, that’s me, now tell me what the hell is going on!” she was in panic mode. Some agents took direct calls, but not Belle. No one ever came I contact with her directly unless it was on her time and scheduling.

“My name is Dr. Whale. I’m calling about your mother.” The voice said calmly. Far too calmly- the _only_ people she’d ever heard speak that way never bore good news.

“What about her? Is she-”

“No. No, but…”

“But _what_?!” Belle was practically screaming into the phone.

“You should probably think about coming home soon.”

When Belle had finally calmed down enough to let the man talk, he was able to explain to her what was going on. Her mother’s heart condition had gotten worse- she complained about not being able to breathe, and Belle’s sister had called an ambulance. As it happened she was in the middle of a massive heart attack, and there wasn’t much they could do for her. At this point it was only a matter of time, and that time was extremely short. She put down the receiver as gently as he could manage and walked back to the room, resisting the urge to race out then and there.

“I’ve got to go.” Belle said as soon as they let her in, not really caring about whatever she was interrupting.

“Go? What do you mean _go_?” James asked, raising an eyebrow. Nicholas remained silent, but shot her a quizzical look.

“Home.” She snapped, grabbing her coat.

“As in… back to the hotel? Are you sick or something?” Gaston ventured. She wasn’t giving them specifics, and Gaston wasn’t the brightest of the bunch.

“As in Sydney!” Belle frantically shuffled through files and tucked them in her bag, ignoring any kind of organization. 

“ _Australia_?!” everyone but Nicholas chorused. She didn’t bother responding, but ran straight for the doors. 

“Lock it down!” James said into a radio. Belle could have shot him then and there- they were sealed in now, and she couldn’t open the doors from the inside without the passcode. 

The code that only Mr. Price knew.

“Belle, listen to me. We need you here. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but-”

“My mother is dying! Is that enough for you?!” she shouted, spinning around to face him. “I don’t know how much time she has left, but it isn’t a lot, and now you need to open the damn doors!”

All six people still sitting at the table stared at her for a moment, shocked. Mr. Price must have decided that it was in his best interest to do what she said, because he stood, punched in the code on the keypad, and the doors swung open.

Belle was gone in two seconds flat, leaving the rest of the group sitting around the table in silence.

For his part, Mr. Gold was fighting the urge to run after her, demand an explanation, and make sure that she got to where she was going as fast as possible. That would be betraying himself, though, and betraying the façade he refused to let go of. Mr. Gold was the criminal mastermind, the man who killed without reservation, the man who made deals of life and death, and who knew the little subtleties and tricks of more people than he could count. He was the shadow in the corner, the dark form watching you from the alley.

He was not a romantic, and he was most definitely not a man who should be feeling this impulsive about matters involving an Australian Interpol agent.

Ever since the day he met her, she’d been different. She was intelligent, more intelligent than most of the agents that had been sent after him, and even after she’d figured out who he was she wasn’t afraid of him. On the contrary, she’d continued to trade quotes with him, and even seemed… _pleased_ the next time she saw him.

Belle was an anomaly, and one that it was impossible for him to resist.

The attraction was obviously there, and he’d toyed with it, thought to see how well it might work out as a distraction… but then she’d taken it and flipped everything on its head, and now his feelings were growing in ways that they couldn’t afford to grow. He’d even offered to _talk_ to her about his past- thank God she’d declined! He’d be gone for good if that happened, he just knew it.

Perhaps _after_ the job was done.

Perhaps. 

_

Though the twenty-one hour flight left her groggy and even more tense than before, Belle wasted no time once she left the airport, heading straight for the hospital. She’d phoned from New York before leaving, just in case… She didn’t even want to contemplate what the end of that sentence might be.

“Mom?” Belle’s voice was cracking, as hard as she was trying to keep steady.

“Hey, honey.” Her mother breathed. She sounded weak and half asleep.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home.”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be fine- but I’m glad you’re coming home anyways.” It had always been a treat for her to see Belle, since she only ever came home once every two or three months. 

“I love you, momma.” Belle said quietly. 

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon, ok?” 

“Ok.”

Belle wouldn’t allow herself to cry. There wasn’t any point in being distressed or looking distressed, especially not around her mother. Mrs. French carried a kind of inner strength that it seemed, of her three children, only Belle had inherited. Her other daughters carried their hearts on their sleeves to a point that it was almost distressing, and generally found it hard to cope with any sort of emotional trauma. They would be in pieces by now.

When she arrived at the hospital, Belle found exactly what she expected to see- her father and two sisters huddled around her mother’s bed. Maurice was wringing his cap in his hands, and he hugged Belle hello just a little more tightly than usual. Lisa and Caroline were in tears, faces red and blotchy. Yes, if her sisters were meant to be damsels in distress, then Belle was a warrior queen when she stood beside them, all rigid posture and emotionless features until her eyes betrayed her.

Gina French was lying on a hospital bed, heart monitor attached to her arm, fluid drip coming from an IV. Even in this state, she was a beautiful woman, red hair splayed out over the pillow in curling designs. Though her sisters seemed like they were barely able to look at her, Belle couldn’t stop staring. People sometimes don’t come to see dying relatives, preferring to remember them as they were before that time, but she’d always thought it was a strange notion. Understandable, but strange, like a fear of heights or spiders. This was still a part of their life, and truly, the fact that she could look and see her mother’s chest still rising and falling, hear the heart monitor indicate that blood was still rushing through her veins.

This wasn’t a memory she wanted to block out. Despite being tired, frail, and utterly on the brink of death… Mrs. French still managed to look at peace. The only thing that truly made Belle uncomfortable was the fact that she was still alive, and everyone was standing around her like she was already gone.

“You must be Belle.” A man walked into the room in a white lab coat- a doctor. “I’m Dr. Whale.” He extended his hand with a somber look. Belle’s eyes widened suddenly.

“Oh! Sorry about that.” She shook his hand and shrugged sheepishly.

“I’ve heard worse, trust me.” He sighed. “I’m afraid that she’s recently dropped into a coma. We’re doing all we can, but there isn’t too much need for you to be here, since you’ve found the rest of your family.” His last sentence was directed at all four French family members. Maurice nodded slowly, cast a glace back at his wife, and walked towards the doors. Lisa and Caroline followed, but Belle hesitated. She leaned down, kissed her mother’s cheek, and squeezed her hand gently before leaving.

“I love you, mom.”

Mr. French drove everyone back to the house, and Belle settled into her own room for the night. Well, not settled. She simply dumped her duffel on the floor, stripped off her clothes and exchanged them for pajamas, and crawled into bed. Her sisters wouldn’t speak to her, and her father almost made the ordeal worse by trying to fill the silence with questions that she couldn’t answer.

No one said a word, but she knew what was happening. In light of her mother’s condition, Lisa and Caroline were looking for someone to blame. As much as she loved her sisters, they were eight and nine years older than Belle, respectively, and took their younger sister in strides. She knew they were angry and afraid, and at the end of the day they still cared about her, but she was the sibling that was never here. She was the one who hadn’t settled for a normal job or a normal life, and the one who had been just a little too late today. Of course, she was also the one whose salary had pulled the family through rough spots in the past, while Lisa lived at home to help care for her mother’s heart condition and Caroline went back to school, but only Maurice and Gina had known that.

Therefore, whatever happened would be Belle’s fault to them, at least for a while.

Lisa woke her up the next morning, urging her to come down to the kitchen for breakfast. There were eggs and pancakes, ham, and some fruit already set out on the table, and though it looked amazing, Belle could only half-heartedly pick at her food. It seemed like her other family members were close to the same mind, and breakfast went slowly, steeped in the lack of conversation and flattened by the weight of the situation.

“So… what have you been up to, Belle?” Maurice asked, attempting to ease the tension.

“Traveling around a little- I went to Scotland about a month ago.” Belle said. As long as she didn’t divulge anything about what she was actually doing there or where she was now, she was within her boundaries. “It’s beautiful out there.”

“Sounds nice.” Alright, so he was trying, but her father was not the best at conversation, and it was obvious that the topic wasn’t going and father. They ate in silence for a few moments before a clattering of dishes started them- Caroline had slammed her hand on the table.

“Why don’t you ever tell us anything?!” she asked angrily. “You’re never home, and you never tell us anything about where you’ve been, and you know, we don’t even exactly know what you do.” She stared at Belle, hurt and full of malice.

“I don’t tell you because I can’t tell you.” Belle said flatly. She was doing everything in her power to remain calm.

“You can’t even tell us what your job is?”

“It’s better this way.” She dropped her eyes, going back to fiddling with her food. “You’re safer this way.” There were people out there who would just love to get their hands on her family, and she knew it. The less they knew, the better. The less anyone knew, the better. Her mother had been the only one who ever truly knew the extent of her job, and she’d kept up the premise with even more ease than Belle could.

“Safer?” Caroline scoffed. “That’s your excuse?” She was obviously angry, and she felt in the dark about a lot of things. Caroline had always been the most openly disapproving of the entire situation. Maurice and Lisa had given up on eating, and instead were staring at the others blankly.

“It’s not an excuse, Caroline. It’s the truth.” Belle’s words came through gritted teeth. Her control was shot after yesterday, but as always, she had to be the mature one in the family even though she was the youngest.

“Really? Because I don’t think you’ve been telling us the truth for a while now. You’re never home, and you won’t tell us where you’ve been- for all we know you could be a wanted criminal! You may be our sister, but you’re a stranger in this house!” Her sister’s eyes were blazing, and Belle’s control very nearly snapped. She managed to keep her head clear, for the sake of keeping her family together when they needed it.

“You’re right about one thing.” She said, her voice calm but dangerous. “You know nothing about me, Caroline Grace. You know nothing about what I do, or what I’ve been through.” Belle stood, rolling up her shirt to expose her torso. There was a jagged white scar just above her left hip, running across her stomach to disappear just above her navel.

“See this?” Belle pointed to the scar, running her fingers along the line. “That’s a knife wound. I have two more on my torso and three on my legs. There’s a bullet wound in my shoulder, and over the last eight years I’ve broken nine bones.” Caroline was now openly staring at her hip, not daring to say a word. Maurice and Lisa seemed to simply not know what to do, eyes flicking between the scar and her face. “I do what I do to keep you safe. Don’t question me in the future.”

Belle left the table and retreated upstairs, rocks in her throat. No one in her family would ever really know her, it seemed, and going by her current track record with romantics (failed drastically, every one of them), it seemed like no one ever would.

_The best in this kind are but shadows…_

_

She called Nicholas later that day, picking a time when it would be afternoon and he would just be getting out of the CIA. The walls were thick in the house, and a locked bedroom door meant that it was unlikely anyone would hear her unless they were trying to.

“Belle, thank God.” Nicholas answered, forgoing proper greetings. “What’s going on over there?” The sound of his voice was a relief. He was the one person who wasn’t an agent or a director that she could be completely and totally honest with, and that was a comfort in itself.

“It’s… well…” Belle babbled through an explanation as best she could. Mr. Gold listened patiently through it all, asking questions occasionally.

She told him everything. 

In hindsight, she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because she felt like a little broken, vulnerable thing right now, and she couldn’t help but turn to someone. She told him about her mother’s heart condition more in depth, told him about the slow progression and how everyone had pitched in to help with medical bills and with Caroline’s venture to go back to school. She told him about how the job she’d taken to try to help her family was slowly tearing them apart.

Nicholas listened with patience, every now and then murmuring something to let her know he was still listening, and in return for her honesty, he told her about himself. 

She learned about his first marriage, about how his wife had married him for his money and never been pleased with anything he tried to do for her. His son, Ben, was roughly ten years younger than she, and out on his own doing who knows what in the world. Mr. Gold’s criminal dealings had mostly resulted from his desire to protect his son from anything and everything. Good intentions had led to bad deeds, he’d gotten involved with the wrong people, and became callous and numb to the rest of the world.

They talked for hours, rambling and listening in turns. Belle didn’t come out of her room for lunch, and barely made it out late for supper. Nicholas didn’t crawl into his bed until far past midnight and into the wee hours of the morning.

Both of them felt tired and weighted down, but at the same time, there was a feeling of being so feather light it was almost dizzying. Whatever their burdens were, they weren’t carrying them alone any longer. Whatever pieces of themselves had been disclosed over a long distance phone call were now shared, now not simply their own any longer.  
They found time to talk every day after that, about life and books and anything that might take them away from their present situation for an hour or two. Belle would lie on her bed amongst the pillows, and when she closed her eyes she could almost believe she was sitting beside him in New York, talking over something at 2AM that seemed completely pointless, but those conversations meant the world to her.

It was amazing how quickly he’d managed to sneak into her life. He was supposed to be the person she was staying away from, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Nicholas’ brown eyes and gentle touch meandered around the fringes of her mind during the day, and absolutely invaded her thoughts at night.

 _Absence makes the heart grow fonder_ , she thought wryly.

It was amazing how quickly he’d managed to sneak into her heart, as well.

_

Gina French passed away several days later, slipping out of a coma and into something even more mysterious.

The funeral was a quick affair, simple and respectful. Belle stood beside her sisters in the line of family near the coffin, shaking hands with people she didn’t know and managing half smiles during introductions. Caroline’s face was red from crying, and tears still leaked out of Lisa’s eyes. It left Belle wondering if the tears were real or dramatic, if they were truly out of grief, or if they had convinced themselves that there was no point in trying to be strong. Her father would occasionally let a tear or two fall, but he knew the persona he had to keep up- being strong for his daughters. 

For Belle’s part, she couldn’t have forced herself to cry if she wanted to. It was so wrong, so utterly against her nature- vulnerability was not something she wanted to show, nor something she ever showed. Not to her family, not to her friends, not to anyone. She let her hair hang loose rather than fixing it atop her head, and she refused to wear black- mother had always told them that if they wore black to her funeral she would come back from the grave to haunt them. Mrs. French had hated black, and Belle would say as much to anyone who eyed her powder blue dress with disdain. No black, she’d said… It was only that no one thought the occasion would come quite so soon. 

Belle left as soon as she could after the funeral, preferring to be as far away from the underlying, but still present, scorn from her sisters as possible. She had been gone just over a week, but besides the phone conversations with Nicholas there hadn’t been any contact from New York. Melissa, the director from the Interpol, had called to check on her once, but besides that they must have agreed that she would return to New York on her own time, and as soon as she could. Some of them even said she might have returned too soon.

During office hours she refused to discuss anything that happened while she was away unless it directly related to the search for Regina. They were narrowing down the possibilities slowly, and with the help of Mary Margaret and Mr. Gold the search had taken on a newfound energy. Not only were they closing in on a location, they were unearthing records of transactions and addresses, shady phone calls, and a few deaths that Mary Margaret thought were probably related to something around Ms. Mills.

The hardest part was taking all the pitying looks. They all looked at her like she was a little lost kitten, and she couldn’t take it. The only one who didn’t was Nicholas, and she couldn’t be sure if that was because he was keeping up his mask or because he truly understood that it was almost like a punishment for her to be looked at in that way. She never had a chance to ask him- in the week since her return he hadn’t made a single attempt to contact her outside the office.

Belle would come back to the hotel she was currently living out of every evening and lose herself in a book, and sometimes when that failed, she tried to lose herself to sleep.

Every now and then there might be a knock at the door.

“Go away.” She groaned. People had been coming by for days to check on her after work- Emma, Jefferson, Mary Margaret, and even James. They’d all taken a turn, and none of them had been successful, but the voice that came from the other side of the door made her get up.

“Belle, it’s me.” 

She almost didn’t dare hope. Walking slowly to the door, she unlocked the deadbolt, but not the chain. Outside in the hallway, looking rather worried and even a little restless, was Nicholas Gold.

She shut the door just long enough to undo the chain, then opened it quickly and ushered him in.

“What are you doing here, Nicholas?” Belle asked flatly. She was numbed over, half drunk, still too stubborn to shed any tears.

“I thought you might need some time.” Mr. Gold walked forward slowly, carefully. He wasn’t the best at offering comfort, but Belle needed something. She’d come back, for whatever reason, and now she was alone again, staring at him with listless blue eyes. “Belle, I-”

“Are you here to tell me that you’re sorry?” she was expectant, waiting on him to say yes, he was so very sorry for her, but she needed to let go and move on.

“Sometimes there’s nothing to say.” Nicholas’ brown eyes grew soft and warm, and before Belle knew what was happening he was hugging her to his chest, and the tears she’d been holding back for so long were falling. Her body shook with silent sobs, and he didn’t say a word, just held her until she had cried herself out, pressing soft kisses into her dark hair. One arm still held his cane for support, while the other moved gently along her back.

_Talking isn't doing. It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds._

She was so sick of everyone telling her pointless things. People said they were sorry, or that it would be alright, or that it would take time, but it was _nothing_. All they offered her were words. That was all. Words were no comfort, even when accompanied by a hug or a meaningful expression- they were just _words_. 

It was far better when there were no words at all.

Belle had to admit, the last person she would have seen herself crying to would have been Nicholas. He was a cold man, she knew, but this was a side of him that he didn’t show. Somewhere, under his teasing manner and strange gestures, under the strictly business deal-making and the hard outer shell, there was a man. The more time she spent with him, the more the version of him that was on file at the Interpol and the CIA seemed like a puppet or a shadow- something that he controlled, but that wasn’t entirely him.

And the more she realized that, the more she realized how much she really cared for him. 

“I’m sorry.” Belle whispered, shaking herself and pulling away. Her eyes were sore and red, and her cheeks were wet from tears. She didn’t know what had gotten into her- she wasn’t usually like this.

Then again, she also usually didn’t pour out her life to people over the phone.

“Sorry for what?” Nicholas kept the hand not holding his cane on her waist, unwilling to relinquish his hold. “You lost your mother a week ago, love. It takes time.” Belle looked at him strangely, her expression changing from guilty to… something else. “What is it?”

“What happened to ‘dearie?’” she asked, biting her lip. 

“What?” Nicholas was genuinely confused.

“You usually call me dearie.” Belle explained, stepping a little closer. “Just now you called me love.”

“Slip of the tongue.” He muttered, embarrassed.

“Did you mean it?” she asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer. Gold didn’t respond, looking at her with a guilty expression. It was too much. On top of everything, now _this_ \- and one more minute of it and Belle was going to lose it, she was positive! 

“Tell me what we are, Nicholas.” Belle whispered, taking his hands. “Tell me what this is, because if it really was a slip then I’ll forget it, but if it wasn’t…”

“Belle, I-” but she was done listening to excuses.

“Please don’t tell me that you’re not interested in anything romantic, because I swear I see something in your eyes, and I really didn’t think you were the type to toy with people that way.” She looked at him for a long moment, brave little Belle, and Nicholas couldn’t help but tell her the truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He sighed, looking away. 

“Hurt me?” she scoffed, choking out something between a laugh and a sob. “I can’t get your stupid face out of my head, and it’s driving me insane! And since when do criminal masterminds think about hurting people?” 

“The ones with any sense of humanity do.” Nicholas countered, though he did have to admit that most of them didn’t have even _that_. “Dearie, I am quite a bit _older_ than you. I didn’t want you to think I was in this for…” Gold trailed off with a sheepish shrug. Belle’s brow furrowed, slightly confused.

“What? Sex? I knew that from the beginning, you idiot man! You’ve been with me alone for how many nights now, and you’ve done nothing.” Belle shook her head, resisting the urge to laugh out loud or cry until she made him understand. “I don’t care about how old you are, and I don’t even care if you’re currently on my watch list. You-” whatever her next words were, they were muffled by his mouth crashing into hers. Belle was stiff with shock for a moment, but quickly relaxed into his embrace, tongues tangling and teeth scraping soft flesh. Nicholas changed his grip on Belle to pull her as close as physically possible, and she broke the kiss to rest her head on his shoulder in a hug. 

“Much better.” She whispered, smiling.

“Wasn’t a slip.” Gold admitted, and Belle couldn’t help but to kiss him again. His groaned slightly as she parted his lips, her hands running through his hair tenderly. 

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” Belle murmured after a moment, a few tears leaking from her eyes.

She fell asleep in his arms, and be damned if it was only five o’ clock. It was the first proper sleep she’d had in days, on top of the coverlet with Nicholas beside her, fingers tracing light patterns on her arms. Sometime around midnight she finally woke, finding that he’d fallen asleep as well, or he’d consciously decided to stay the evening. Either way, he was here, and she kissed his forehead gently, silently thanking him. Her eyes felt crusted over from crying, and exhaustion took her again in a moment, curled against his side and feeling more secure than she’d ever felt.


	3. Intermezzo

Belle woke up crying in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face. She couldn’t remember what had caused the nightmare, but it certainly didn’t matter now. Her heart was racing and her breathing was unsteady, and Nicholas was holding her, whispering soothing words into her hair and pressing gentle kisses to her lips. As her breathing steadied she rested her head against his shoulder, feeling his heart beating and taking reassurance in the fact that he was still here. 

When the sun rose he hadn’t moved. 

She was half afraid he would have left in the night, ran off to do who knows what, but instead Belle found herself still wrapped in his arms. It took her a moment to realize exactly what had gone on, but she simply nuzzled closer to him, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt. He shifted slightly in response to her movement, kissing her forehead softly.

“Good morning.” he whispered, brushing his fingers across her cheek. Apparently he’d been awake for at least a short while now.

“Morning is relative.” Belle groaned. She could barely open her eyes, still swollen shut from crying, but it was quite clearly still dark outside. Nicholas laughed, the noise vibrating through her.

“Relative to what?” he asked, but didn’t move to get up.

“Relative to the sun, which isn’t up, and if the sun can be lazy when it gets a full ten hours of sleep, then so can I when I haven’t slept well in days.” She muttered, curling back into his chest. Nick’s hands roamed her torso unconsciously, tracing patterns on her arms and eventually coming to rest at the small of her back, bringing her as close as physically possible.

“As much as I would love to stay here all day,” he sighed, “it’s probably best that you get up. Possibly even venture outside…” It wasn’t really a suggestion. Belle knew that tone, and she knew that he was right. After being cooped up in the hotel and cooped up in the office for two weeks, the only time she’d actually spent outside doing anything was the time walking between the two places she was hiding away in.

It was like a sort of non-existence she’d been living since returning to New York, something that you could see and hear and touch, but not feel. Everything was automatic- she ate when she was hungry and slept when she was so tired that sleep had little trouble claiming her. Nightmares woke her routinely, and the hotel room was becoming a mess of scattered papers and empty dishes. 

“Fine.” Belle gently hit him with a pillow as she sat up and stretched, but it only made him laugh. She did actually have to go to work today, even if it was currently only 6AM and she didn’t have to be at the office until nine. Ah, well- at least it was time enough to take a long shower and grab breakfast before work.  
She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Their clothes were rumpled, and the first impression Belle got was that they must look like they hadn’t slept in days, not that they’d spent the night tossing, turning, and in her case _crying_. Nicholas shuffled around, seeming only slightly uncomfortable in the thick silence coating the room. She took pity on him and broke the moment, walking over to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, sincere, and he leaned into her touch gently, shifting slightly to claim her mouth.

There wasn’t much more to say simply because there wasn’t time. Not here, not now, not when other matters of the outside world were beginning to take precedence- namely Regina Mills and Sydney Glass, and the fact that they couldn’t come into the CIA building together _or_ looking like this. Nicholas left reluctantly, giving her a lingering kiss before he walked out the door. He swore they weren’t done talking yet, though, and they would just have to continue it after work.

Belle washed her face, brushed her teeth, and combed the tangles from her hair. There wasn’t any point in fixing it, as a glance out the window showed the rain coming down in buckets. She pulled on a pale yellow sweater that was too long for a top but too short for a dress (well, at least as far as she was concerned), boots, and soft black jeans. The wide collar of the sweater left her shoulders bare, almost like the gown she’d worn to that ridiculous masquerade around Halloween… the night she first met Nicholas.

As she dressed and showered, Belle found that she couldn’t keep her mind from straying towards him. Last night… last night had been a vulnerable moment, and that simply wasn’t something she _did_. She didn’t let anything or anyone slip through the cracks, but Nicholas was different, and always had been. Nicholas had waltzed in and she had cried in his arms, and that was alright.

Baring her emotions wasn’t something that she did often, or really _ever_. It was generally considered a fluke, a moment of weakness… but Nicholas made her feel differently. He didn’t care if she cried, and he hadn’t ever tried to take advantage of her in all the nights they’d spent together. That was something new for her. At least one in three men she’d dated, after learning that no, she was not a virgin, had made some kind of pass at her that crossed the line of excusable. Nicholas had slept in her bloody _bed_ and hadn’t even touched her anywhere objectionable, like he was afraid she would break or run away. Little broken Belle, the strong one for so long that she saved none of the strength for herself, and he didn’t mind watching her break.

He was intelligent, could carry on a conversation about some obscure topic for hours without ever seeming bored, talking himself in circles until Belle gave up trying to make any kind of lasting point. He was a charmer and- somewhere deep down- a romantic, with a flair for the dramatic. Above all, behind all the barriers he so carefully constructed, Nicholas seemed to be a very genuine person. No matter how often he insisted that intent was meaningless, he had lived a life of good intentions gone awry… and then had simply gone with what happened as they slipped into less than good intentions.

If she wasn’t careful she could fall in love with this man...

That is, if she hadn’t already.  
_

Mr. Gold walked down the street the three blocks to his hotel. He could understand why they wouldn’t put him in the same place as the visiting agents, but why on earth put him so close? Did they honestly think he wouldn’t figure it out eventually?

Ah, no matter. The sooner he got to the office, the sooner he could keep an eye out for Belle.

She needed someone, and the more she talked the more it sounded like she’d never had anyone except her mother, and now her mother was gone. He’d been able to gather enough from her phone call and the choked out story last night to know that her sisters didn’t support her, and her father was about as passive as a man could possibly be. Belle was the strong person, and she didn’t deserve to have that weight put on her shoulders, not now.

Gold suddenly found himself wondering what he’d wanted when he first started talking to her. The night they met it was almost a kind of game, just a quick opening line to get her attention, and then… and then she had beaten him at his own game, or very nearly. Intelligent, beautiful, and completely untouchable: just the combination that made his head spin.

It was why they had continued this arrangement, he supposed. This secret engagement that had started out as pleasant company for two people who had none, and had escalated to… what? It was beyond friendship, he knew that, and it was to the point that (at least for his part) it would never go back. But was it infatuation? Was it simply because both of them had gone too long without romance? Was it the fact that their relationship was so utterly out of the ordinary that “thrill of the chase” took on a new meaning altogether?

Or… perhaps something else entirely.

For the first time in many years Nicholas began to wonder how long it took to fall in love.  
_

The offices were slow that morning, most people dragging around and hanging on by ingesting large amounts of coffee, and even the usually perky Mary Margaret looked glum. Of course, her training had finally started, so she probably had a reason to be tired. Emma was helping her, but most of her gun training was being overseen personally by James Price, probably in some kind of attempt to make sure she wouldn’t be hurt.

That was impossible, of course. Belle knew more than anyone that if you wanted to learn to fight, you had to take a few hits. In fact, she even had some time scheduled in the afternoon to show her a few hand-to-hand combat tricks.

Looking at everything they were doing from a narrow viewpoint, this would normally be extremely overkill under normal circumstances. After all, Mary Margaret was only serving as the bait. However… not all bait was for a catch as dangerous as this one, and they had no clue what Regina might try to do. The most important thing, no matter what actually played out, was to keep Mary alive. They would teach her enough that she could fight her way out, and have people on all sides watching in case something went majorly wrong.

Currently Belle seemed to be the sole life force driving this plan onwards as they sat around the familiar metal table, bright sweater giving her an even bigger contrast with the rest of the dark room.

“Are the location searches coming to a close?” she asked, flipping through to find the correct paperwork. Jefferson was the key to this particular bit of the plan, and judging by these records the search was narrowing.

“We’ve pinned her down to somewhere near Italy and the surrounding countries, but she’s left about a thousand wild goose trails for us, so that alone is a miracle.” He sighed, twirling his hat on his finger. “It’s still going to take time, but give me another week and I should have a location specific enough that we can drop in the bait.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t just smoke her out.” Gaston muttered. He was grumpier than usual today- something about the weather must have been affecting everyone. Nicholas rolled his eyes, shaking his head sadly.

“We can’t smoke her out- that’s the whole point in _this_!” Gold jabbed a finger at the files. “You can’t smoke out someone who has a million exits to flee from, and you know it. Regina may be rash, but she’s smart. She has eyes and ears, and she’ll know if we get too close.”

“Meaning what? We put our cheese in the maze and hope the mouse comes to us?”

“Basically yes.” Jefferson groaned. “I’ve got Ruby on the details, so if we can’t get her this way we might have a couple of places to start over again.”

A reformed bounty hunter now working off her time in service to the CIA (and occasionally FBI), Ruby Lucas was the best of the business when it came to finding things that were lost. She seemed to be able to sniff people out from practically anywhere, and her skills had been vital in several past cases. She had a good friendship going with Mary Margaret, as strange of a pair the two made, taking special interest in this particular case because of that friendship.

Ruby would be working on unraveling Regina’s complex web of plots and escape routes- the woman had backup plans out the wazoo, but they were very slowly being untangled and demolished, one by one. Another benefit of having Ruby on the team was that her past life gave her access to eyes and ears in places the CIA may not have been able to edge a toe inside, so long as they didn’t ask too many questions afterwards, meaning that Regina’s threats could be disproved or her resources exhausted… even if the rat herself couldn’t be taken out just yet.

“Sounds good.” James said. The false sense of security in the room was beginning to crumble to dust as the hours went on. Something was going to happen, and soon. Things were building to a climax, and time was crucial.

Regina’s weapons transports had only increased since they last found out about it, along with other amounts of suspicious activity along the borders of several countries. The CIA had very discreetly alerted a few governments to the business of illegal weaponry, but any kind of official act or alert would tip off Ms. Mills and they would be back to square one.

“So what you’re telling me is that we’ve got all the logistics figured out, we’re just waiting for the word from Agent Lucas before we put it into action?” James asked, his tone unreadable. As the CIA director, a part of him was probably overjoyed that things seemed to be going so smoothly, but there was no doubt that a part of him had an overwhelming concern for Mary Margaret, and years of work with the CIA had taught him to be wary of anything going too smoothly. His only comfort was that Belle and Emma (who was not at the office today due to Henry catching the stomach flu) would be on the small special ops team that would accompany Mary Margaret to wherever she was going. Undercover, of course, and the team was still in the works, but it was obvious that backup would most definitely be needed.

“That’s what it sounded like to me.” Gold muttered. Belle resisted the urge to nudge him under the table, settling for shooting him a glare.

For Mr. Gold’s part… well, he wasn’t exactly considered trustworthy around the offices, it was just a general consensus that he had too much riding on this outcome to need quite as much security. Since Belle seemed to outside eyes to be the only person in the entire building that he could stand to be around she was generally put on “Gold watch”, as Emma put it, which basically mean that almost everywhere he went, she went (unless otherwise occupied). Consequently, she may have snagged a kiss or two on an empty hallway … but no one asked questions, because no one ever saw them. 

“So the next order of business is to assign people to the special ops team that’s going with Mary Margaret.” James concluded, cutting a mirror image of Belle’s glare towards Mr. Gold.”

“Emma and I need to be on the ground.” Belle immediately jumped in, knowing that if she didn’t say something then Jefferson or Gold would have the two of them in the least risky position possible. They actually looked like they were about to object, but Belle cut them off. “You know Emma will protect Mary Margaret with her life, and I’m the most qualified agent assigned to this task to accompany her. Jefferson will stay here and do communication- he’ll have tabs on us at all times.” She wasn’t sure if the last bit was directed towards James or Mr. Gold, but Jefferson nodded reluctantly.

“I’d prefer to accompany you myself-”

“I know you would, and that’s why you can’t.” She said firmly. “Your connection to Emma means that if anything went wrong you’d be considered emotionally compromised. This way you know exactly where she is and what’s happening every second, and you know she’s better off if she’s not worrying about you, too.”  
Jefferson dropped his head. He couldn’t argue with that logic, and neither could Gold. Well, Gold could argue with her later, but right now it was practically pointless… except… but he wouldn’t pull that card. Even Mr. Gold wasn’t that cruel.

“Belle,” James began, “I hate to bring this up, but as full proof as your plan might seem… Well, to put it frankly, you’ve just gotten out of the slump since your mother died. Today is the first day I’ve seen you show signs of life, and you don’t consider _yourself_ to be emotionally compromised?” 

Mr. Gold may not have been that cruel, but apparently Mr. Price was. Belle’s eyes narrowed, fixing him with a look that clearly meant he’d stepped into a danger zone.

“Mr. Price, I am in no way emotionally compromised and I have no intention of putting my life in danger in any way. If you think I’m suicidal you’re sadly mistaken, and I highly doubt you yourself reacted any other way when you lost _your_ mother.” That struck a chord. Everyone knew that there had been a big debacle when Mr. Price was dealing with the death of his mother- he’d been out of work for a month, grieving. James cleared his throat and took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool.

“Agent French, that matter is some time in the past and none of your concern-”

“As my personal life is none of yours. I’ll happily consent to examination if need be, but trust that you’ll find everything is as it should be.” Belle promised herself that she wouldn’t let the bad mood infect her, but this wasn’t helping at all. She was practically growling at James now- the man had no business sticking his nose in her private life.

“Then please report for psych examination tomorrow morning.” James snapped. 

Belle would not fight this battle. She wouldn’t. Part of survival was choosing when to fight, when to run the pack, and when to run away, and now was not the time for fighting. Her emotions were running too high and her stress levels were no better. If she started this now she would be royally screwed and _utterly_ emotionally compromised. The only way to get out of this was to go through with the exam and pray.  
_

“Alright, Miss French. Let’s begin, shall we? Please be honest and straightforward.” Archie Hopper, the building’s resident psychiatrist, was sitting next to Belle in a room on one of the upper floors. They were going through her psych examination, and she was only becoming more impatient by the minute, struggling not to show her frustration. Archie was a nice guy, but she didn’t like people probing her personal life. “So, how have you been feeling since you came back to New York?”

“Tired.” Belle admitted. There wasn’t much point in lying, and not just because she was being monitored by a basic lie detector. “I’ve been sleeping better the past couple of days, though.”

“That’s good.” Archie said with a nod. “And are you feeling depressed?” Belle sighed.

“With all due respect, I’ve just lost my mother. I need time, but I’m not suicidal. I have people to look after, and I’m happy with my life.”

“People?” Dr. Hopper raised an eyebrow, looking up from his notepad. “Not family? _People_?”

“Family included.” Belle shrugged, slightly embarrassed. 

“And how is your relationship with your family?”

“Not the best, but… it’s never been great since I started this line of work. We all kind of live in a tolerant state now. I basically provide half the income they need each year, but we don’t communicate much.” She could feel Archie charting her every gesture, making note of every word she said. A bad family relationship was exactly the thing she _didn’t_ need on this examination, but he’d been aware of her family status when she signed on to work this assignment.

“Are there any harsh feelings around your mother’s death?” Well, he’d hit the nail on the head there. 

“Some from my sisters. I don’t… I can’t bring myself to blame them. I know I keep secrets, and I know they don’t understand why I don’t tell them things, even though I’ve explained it a hundred times. It’s not their fault, but my the same token I won’t be made the scapegoat.” Belle’s eyes met Archie’s for a moment. “Anything else?”

“I’d ask how your stress levels are, but they seem to be running high all over this building.” Dr. Hopper cracked a small smile and Belle laughed. 

“As usual. It’s not unbearable, though.” 

“Umm… let’s see…” Archie skimmed down the page of questions, most of them constituting a simple yes or no, until he reached the one that Belle had been dreading.

“Are you in any sort of romantic relationship?”

“Yes.” Belle said calmly, not planning on volunteering information, but she knew he would ask.

“And how is that going?” he sat back in his chair as if they were having this conversation over tea, just two friends chatting.

“It’s going…” Belle paused for a moment, trying to think. “It’s complicated, but not in a bad way.” She concluded, a slight smile playing on her lips.

“And the- er- _physical_ aspects?” Poor man. He obviously wasn’t comfortable with this type of questioning, as brilliant as he was, and Belle couldn’t say she blamed him.

“We’re not sleeping together.” Belle said, almost regretfully. “Well, I guess we are sleeping together, but we’re not having sex.”

“Really?” Hopper looked mildly interested in this point. “And there’s no pushing on either side for any kind of physical intimacy?”

“No.” She shook her head. One of the unique things about their relationship was that the truly physical aspect of it was only beginning. Nick’s mind was just as fascinating as any kind of physical relationship they might have in the future. “We’re taking things slowly. He’s been… he’s actually been so wonderful these past few days, helping me with getting back into the swing of things. We just sit and talk, or sometimes we don’t talk, and…”

And suddenly she found herself babbling about him. There were a few more general relationship questions along the way (yes, he’s older, no, it’s not abusive, etc, etc), but mostly she drifted off into absentminded babble. She was talking about his humor and his wit, and the kind smiles and gentle touches when she needed support. She talked about how he was polite but hard to please, and how he called her brilliant before beautiful, one of the things that mad Belle’s smile grow wide with joy. Some people never stayed around long enough to find out about her intelligence, but with Nicholas it was the thing that made him come back. It also made her realize how much she wanted even more than they already had together- she wanted to wake up beside him and be able to kiss him in public without fear of endangering their lives- but perhaps that was too much to wish for just now.

“Nick? That’s his name?” Archie asked. Belle cursed mentally, hoping the lie detector wouldn’t register a spike in her heart rate. 

“Yes.” She absolutely, desperately hoped he wouldn’t make the connection with Mr. Gold. This conversation was officially private, and she didn’t have any reason to be worried if Archie didn’t suspect anything. He didn’t make a note of it, thank God, and simply nodded, closing his folder.

“Belle, if I may speak plainly, I don’t see any reason to suspend you for now. For now.” He cautioned, wagging a finger. “I think you’re at a vulnerable stage, but you’re moving up and out from it, and you’re keeping up a healthy relationship.”

“Meaning I’m free to go?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes.” He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up his nose to write a note on a scrap of paper. “I’d like to do a follow up in two weeks, or before the next time you go out on assignment, whichever comes first, but for now I’ll tell Mr. Price you’re stable.”

“Thank you.” Belle said, smiling. She was completely relieved- her bad family history was something that she knew might come back to bite her, and she was positive she wouldn’t make it through the exam unscathed, but things had worked out well.

“Don’t thank me.” Dr. Hopper grinned. “Thank this new boyfriend of yours. He seems to be doing wonders for you.”  
_

After work Belle grabbed a book and went straight to Central Park.

It was chilly, but not uncomfortable outside. One of the things she’d wanted to do for a while was walk around Central Park while she was in New York, but there just hadn’t been time. She stopped to look at Strawberry Fields, walking down a hill towards the Bethesda Fountain, which seemed to be oddly devoid of visitors. Belle had only been to New York once before, and there were plenty of people around this area even with two feet of snow on the ground then (she’d done some involuntary ice skating and made quite a few involuntary snow angels that day, and wound up with a cold for her stubbornness). Plopping down on the side of the fountain, Belle settled into her book.

It was such a luxury to be able to sit and read like this. Most of the time her work was all-consuming, and the last time she’d been able to do this was before… before she went back to Australia, sitting in her hotel room with Nicholas. The man was marvelous company, really. Sometimes one of them would read aloud, and his comments always made her laugh, and sometimes they would sit in silence, needing the touch and presence of another human being, but nothing more. 

Thinking about Nicholas was actually making it harder to concentrate on her book, but it made her family problems seem just a bit further away, so it was worth it by far. 

Especially when she thought about his brown eyes, or the way he never pressed himself on her, but when she’d kissed him he acted like a dying man starved for touch. Belle closed her eyes briefly, giving a soft sigh. Even here she missed him… missed his smile and his clever comebacks, missed the way he always calmed her down. On the night they met, Nicholas Gold had felt like some sort of narcotic, addictive and deadly, but now she knew that he wasn’t poison. He was her medicine, her safety. The one person who managed to understand without words what no one else seemed to know no matter how hard she tried to explain.

She didn’t even notice the warm tears rolling down her cheeks until one landed on her finger, but she didn’t hurry to blink them away. After all, no one was here to see her cry.

“When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.” 

Belle jumped, hand over her heart. That was another thing Nicholas had always been able to do- sneak up on her. Not a soul in the world was able to do that, save him. 

“Nicholas.” Belle said, taking a deep breath and wiping her tears away hurriedly. He sat beside her on the side of the fountain, hair slightly askew from the breeze.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright.” She shut the book and tucked it back into bag. 

“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold to be sitting outside?” he cast a glance towards the shy, which had clouded over in the time that Belle had spent meditating. Rain was coming, and soon.

“I could just wait for the bottom to drop out…” she muttered, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad. Getting caught in the rain could be pleasant sometimes, but it was worth considering that it wasn’t summer any longer. It was late December, but not quite cold enough for snow today, and when it rained it would rain long and hard and _cold_. 

Nicholas walked her back to her hotel, barely missing the pouring rain. She told him how the examination went, minus the part involving him, of course. He didn’t say much, except to ask how she was feeling, until they reached her door. Gaston was out late tonight, so they could converse this way without fear of interruption or discovery.

“You’re sure you’ll be ok?” he studied her face, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Do you want the truth or the comforting lie?” Belle asked, leaning against the doorframe. The truth was that she wasn’t ok, probably wouldn’t be for a while yet, but she was on her _way_ to ok, which was more than she had been since her return to New York. Nicholas sighed and pulled her in for a kiss.

“Neither one is going to make me happy, love.” He whispered.

“I’ll be fine. I passed the psych exam, remember?” Belle was doing her best to be cheerful and truly look the part, but she knew it probably wasn’t working out that well.

“Yes, you _passed_.” Nicholas said pointedly. “That doesn’t mean you’re in perfect condition. It just means you’re well enough not to let it interfere with your work on noticeable levels.” He would much prefer if someone were there to keep an eye on her, but Belle’s ungrateful sisters and slacking father were in Australia, Emma was with her son, Mary Margaret was under protection, and he wasn’t about to let bloody Gaston March within ten feet of her outside a professional setting. Honestly, he would have volunteered for the job himself if it didn’t feel like a major intrusion. Belle was in a vulnerable state right now, and he wouldn’t ever use that to get something out of her. 

“Well, maybe you don’t have to go?” She ventured hesitantly, uncertain blue eyes gazing up at him. The look on his face was nearly impossible to read, teetering on the edge of saying yes, but he seemed firmly resolved to say no. He shouldn’t say yes, he really shouldn’t, but just the way she was looking at him then he thought he night climb a mountain if she asked.

God, she was beautiful. And intelligent. And sensitive, and strong when she didn’t need to be, and stubborn as a bloody rock, and a million other things he’d learned about her that he just couldn’t keep from buzzing through his head at a thousand miles an hour. Arabella French was something extremely special, and he almost didn’t dare get too close for fear she’d slip through his grasp.

He’d nearly slipped last night- he _had_ slipped last night, but being the good person she was, she hadn’t pressed him to say what his endearment had implied. Knowing it was one thing, but saying it out loud meant jumping off a cliff, falling so far the he would never be able to recover if her reply was that she didn’t feel the same. No matter her company or the kisses from the night before… she was still emotional, still impulsive. He couldn’t trust it yet.

“Do you really think that’s the best idea for us now, dearie?” he asked. Every rational bone in his body was telling him no, but he was positive that if she so much as said the word he would be gone. Belle seemed to be able to things with only a few words that most people could never dream of, and getting something out of Nicholas Gold was one of them.

“Please, Nicholas. We don’t have to _do_ anything. I just… I don’t want to be alone.” Her words came out in a rush, ridiculously hopeful.

“Alright.” He conceded with a sigh. “But I’m taking the sofa.”

Belle rolled her eyes and pulled him inside, shutting the doorway behind him. 

They tried to decide on something for dinner, found that neither of them was very hungry and settled on making pasta in the hotel room rather than ordering out. The tiny nook that served as a kitchen didn’t leave much room for personal space, but that was fine by them. Nicholas set out plates as Belle finished up cooking the few vegetables she’d picked up from the market earlier that week, and they sat down to dinner, watching the lightning slice the sky outside the windows. 

When Belle was little and it stormed, she used to sit by the window in her mother’s lap. They would turn off all the lights and let the lightning be their candles, much like she and Nicholas were now. Lisa had always stood with her nose against the glass, watching the lightning and reveling in the thunder, but Belle had been afraid. Mamma would hold her hand and run her fingers though her hair, saying that it was alright. Power was something to be respected, but you had to be brave. You had to face whatever your fears were, even in the darkest of times.

“What are you thinking?” Nicholas asked, covering her hand with his own. Watching the storm over empty dinner dishes, he almost felt like he’d never been closer to her. For all the vulnerability she’d showed in the past few days, Belle was a guarded person. She put up walls and kept them there, and he was interested to explore them… and perhaps find the key to breaking down his own walls. Right now she almost looked like a child, pale face illuminated by flashes, blue eyes wide and bright.

“It’s beautiful.” Belle breathed. “I mean, it’s horrible. It’s complete chaos out there, and it’s destructive, but it’s so beautiful.”

Nicholas didn’t speak for a moment, digesting her words, fingers absentmindedly stroking the back of her hand. 

“Did you know lightning puts ozone back into the air? They bring rain, they get rid of some of the pollutants in the air…” she continued, still gazing out the window. “As awful as they are, storms… they’re good. Whatever havoc goes on during the midst of them, they leave something in their wake other than destruction.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor?” he asked after a beat. Belle turned, eyebrows raised and a sheepish smile on her lips.

“Did it sound like one?” 

“It sounded a _lot_ like one.” He looked out the window as another bolt of lightning cut across the sky. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  
In hindsight, she wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow Nicholas wound up pulling her face towards his. The motion was slow, gentle, asking for nothing and yet promising the world. Every single thing about this relationship had come about the wrong way- an Interpol agent wasn’t exactly the prime candidate to date a criminal mastermind, and they’d known that from the start, known the dangers for both sides. Nicholas pulled away, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t let it get that far. Not tonight- maybe sometime in the future, but not tonight. He mumbled an apology and backed away, but Belle put a hand on his arm to stop him. Her blue eyes were soft, shaking her head slightly.

“You bloody idiot.” She whispered, words spilling out faster than she cared to say them. “You really don’t know do you? You just keep going on with life and dancing around it, and I think we established a long time ago that I want more than just…” Belle took a deep breath, steeling herself for the impact. “I love you.”  
Nicholas simply stared, willing himself to speak and not to speak. Belle was perhaps the most precious gift the universe had ever given him, and now… She couldn’t… she couldn’t _love_ him, could she? Someone like Belle- brilliant, and beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her- _couldn’t_ find feelings for someone with such a checkered past and a cold heart. Of course, life had taught him to feel this way, his marriage had taught him to feel this way, and he would have already given up hope if it weren’t for the look in Belle’s eyes now.

“And I love you.” he admitted, almost regretfully. Not for his own sake, but for the fact that Belle had gotten tangled up with someone who was undoubtedly not a handsome prince. The thing about Belle, though, was that she had never wanted a prince. She bit her lip, unsure what to do for a moment, before simply throwing her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him backwards in the process. 

“Is this what you want, Belle?” his breath tickled her skin, slightly muffled against her shoulder. “Do you really want an old man with a checkered past and blood on his hands?” It didn’t take any thought to form her answer. She pulled away to look in his eyes, fingers gently stroking the side of his face.

“You’re not old, and we both have pasts. It’s part of living, Nicholas.” She sighed softly, a sad smile coming over her face. “When will you learn that I just want _you_?”

Checkered past or no, she didn’t care. Belle didn’t have a completely clean past herself, and she’d spilled blood many times. Of course, not nearly as much of the blood had been lethal, and Nicholas seemed to have far more… complicated motives. He was the kind of person who was layered, so layered that he seemed to have an impossible number of mysteries to uncover, waiting just below the surface.

And somehow she wound up lost in his touch and the sound of his voice, and they moved from sitting side by side to kissing, and from kissing to stumbling across the floor. Somehow they wound up tripping over a haphazard pile of books and falling onto the bed, clinging to each other like their lives depended on it. Hungry eyes and hungry hands sought buttons and closures and the cool, bare flesh that lay beneath the fabric, ghost-like touches sending jolts of fire through sensitive areas. 

He took time to explore her slowly, making note of every single inch of exposed skin as he worked the buttons on her shirt undone. Her breathing hitched when he found a particularly sensitive spot on her collarbone, pulling him closer almost involuntarily. The only regretful part was the loss of contact necessary to remove her top and his dress shirt, but the sheer amount of smooth flesh revealed was more than enough of a reward.

As she shrugged out of her blouse, she suddenly felt very self-conscious. His eyes scanned over her nearly bare body, pausing for a moment when his eyes reached her scars, and she suddenly went from blushing to cringing, her hands moving to cover them instinctively. The look in his eyes was almost unreadable, speaking neither disgust nor pity as he pulled her hands away tenderly. 

“What are those from?” his fingers gently traced over the white lines, feather light as they skimmed along her skin. Nicholas’ eyes went back up to her face, but his hands still fluttered along her torso, driving her insane from the lack of real pressure and making her scared for what he might say next.

“Knife wounds, all three.” Belle breathed as his attention shifted back to the scars. One of them ran from the right side of her stomach to trail just underneath her left breast, and he trailed kisses along it until her breathing came in short gasps.

“Absolutely beautiful.” He murmured against her skin. She suddenly went stiff, eyeing him with a strange look, like she wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. “It’s not an impurity, love. Scars make us whole- they make us human. They show that we’ve lived, and we’ve survived to live another day after we earned them.”

She felt dizzy for a moment, and wasn’t sure if it was the taste of his kiss or the conviction with which he spoke that made her so lightheaded. His skin was hot under her fingertips, tongues and teeth teasing and soothing the skin, leaving their marks on each other, a fiery urge fueling them forward. All thinking and reason left his mind, and when they finally collapsed, sleepy and spent, Belle curled into his embrace once more, murmuring something he still found absolutely impossible against his neck.

“I love you.”   
_

Nicholas thought he was dreaming when he woke with Belle in his arms- a very peaceful-looking, very _naked_ Belle. She was curled against his side almost like a cat, the sheet catching around the curve of her hips and covering her legs. Yes, this had to be a dream, because he’d promised himself that nothing like this would happen if he agreed to stay.

It wasn’t morning yet. Far from it, actually, if the digital clock was right. The time was supposedly 1:41AM, but he dared not move to see if it was right for fear of waking Belle. Dream or no dream, he wanted this moment to last. The rain still pounded on the window, and every now and then thunder would rumble in the distance. His free hand took matters of motor control away from his conscious mind, slowly tracing out looping patterns on Belle’s back.

“Nicholas?” she murmured, half asleep. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, love.” Nicholas took in her pale face, hair curling any which way it pleased around her neck and falling across her back. She was radiant, and one touch of her soft lips was all he needed to fall back in his dreamy, dizzy mental state. The taste of her was like a drug, and he was drunk on it- drunk on _Belle_ \- and unable to get enough to compensate for the throbbing ache of addiction.

Come morning light it would all be a dream, he was sure, but for now her creamy skin was warm against his own, and she rested in his arms. He promised himself that he wouldn’t fall asleep (or wouldn’t wake up, whichever seemed most appropriate), wanting to make the moment last, but he must have allowed his eyes to close because the next thing he knew it was daylight.

And Belle was still in his arms.

His first thought was somewhere along the lines of “Oh, God, what happened?” but then he remembered. Apparently it hadn’t been a dream after all, and it took Belle a few minutes just to work a coherent sentence out of him. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and sat facing him, shaking her head.

Did he regret this? She certainly didn’t. More than anything, their experience had made her realize that her time with Nicholas had meant more than she ever thought anything could. Love wasn’t something she’d ever had faith in, or ever believed would happen for her. She had tried and failed far too many times, and then suddenly… then suddenly a criminal mastermind with a fondness for Shakespeare and a rather intoxicating smell pops in from nowhere, and everything had changed.

“Breathe, Nicholas.” Belle said slowly, leaning over to kiss his cheek. 

“That is rather important, isn’t it?” He sighed and slipped an arm around Belle’s shoulders as she curled back into his embrace.

It was a Saturday, and still raining. It seemed the bad weather streak they had been predicting had finally set in, and staying indoors seemed the most favorable option today. No offices, no Mary Margaret and James or Emma and Jefferson, no hiding from the public eye, and no more hiding from each other. 

Belle started tea, knowing that neither of them usually ate anything substantial for breakfast. Very unhealthy, but the nights they had fallen asleep on the couch had solidified the fact that there was no point in arguing. She didn’t keep coffee on hand (the stuff was far too strong for her), but the kettle was whistling by the time they were dressed again.

“Reminds me of home.” Nicholas murmured a few minutes later, taking a sip of the strong black tea. 

“The tea?” she raised an eyebrow. He nodded, smiling.

“It was my mother’s favorite. She used to say that the only decent black tea was Earl Gray, and I’ll be damned if she wouldn’t drink more than a sip of anything else.” 

“Really?” Belle had that look on her face again, the one where she was about to become lost in a story. It was a good thing, he supposed, as that launched into a few hours’ worth of tales about their childhoods- gold in Scotland and Belle in Australia.

Nicholas talked about his brother and sister, and a little about his son. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the subject of Ben, but Belle listened patiently, and eventually he warmed up.

“It used to snow every year, and the two of us would always go outside and build a snowman. No matter what was going on that winter, the snowman would be there. He even came home from university to spend Christmas and build a snowman every year- tradition, I suppose…” He trailed off, and Belle picked up with a story of her own.

“The first time I saw snow I was twenty-two.” She said. It had only been seven years ago. “I was on a conference in New York, and it snowed so much I thought I was going to drown in it.” Belle hated the cold, though she usually attributed it to the fact that she’d grown up in a warm climate. 

“So how much did it actually snow?” Nicholas smirked.

“Eight inches.” Belle said, laughing. “Not nearly as bad as the last time I was here. The 2010 snow storm- two feet of pure white.”

“I spent that winter in Florida.” Gold took another sip of his tea. The cold was perfectly fine with him. His leg, however, wasn’t quite as obliging.

“Snow is pretty interesting if you think about it.” Belle said quietly. “It’s pure and clean, but then humanity gets a nasty grip on it and… well, I’m sure you’ve seen the streets.” The little snow she’d seen in the city had always resulted in grimy, oily, half-frozen slush on the street, leaving stains on the hem of her pants if they dragged and generally looking rather nasty. The snow in parks and on lawns was clean, though. Even after falling for miles and coming to rest, cleansing the air of whatever needed cleansing, it was pure and white and clean.

“That I have.” He nodded, looking out the window to see that the rain had stopped, however briefly. It was still cold and muggy no doubt, but at least you could see a little past the window pane. “Do you always think about things like this?”

First the storm and now the snow. He wasn’t sure if it was something about the weather or just something about Belle, but he liked hearing her thoughts. It wasn’t often you met someone who would share thoughts like these with you- most people might think you were crazy, or at the very least make you feel uncomfortable while talking. They could discuss something like this for hours and never get bored, and he never became tired of seeing the look of sheer honesty on Belle’s face when she talked like this. Her walls came down and every little crack and scar showed, almost like the scars on her skin that she had tried to hide from him.

He wanted to know her, know every single inch of her, even the scars. Especially the scars. Belle wasn’t perfect, and neither was he, but the beautiful thing was that they could accept that, and accept the flaws, and neither of them minded.  
_

A week later, Belle, Emma, and Mary Margaret were on a flight to Rome. Ruby and Jefferson had finally narrowed down the location that was most likely to attract Regina, and this was the hot spot. The trio took separate flights on separate routes with different switch locations, just to be safe. Belle and Emma would be Mary Margaret’s elite body guards for now, while the rest of the team was filtered in over the following two days. 

They stayed in a hotel under the pretense of preparing for a wedding, giving Regina plenty of time to put a lock on Mary Margaret. One of the other team members would be posing as the groom, and even though James wasn’t happy, it was the best way to put out the news that Mary Margaret was in town without advertising the fact that there was a crew of highly trained special agents watching her every move.

Nicholas didn’t feel comfortable with Belle leaving, but just the same… he couldn’t do anything about it. Well, he certainly could, but not without exposing their relationship and endangering them both even more. Regina was probably keeping tabs on him, but she wouldn’t dare touch him without taking the appropriate measures, meaning he was fine so long as he wasn’t extremely far away from NYC headquarters. She shouldn’t have a clue about Belle.

God, he prayed she didn’t have a clue about Belle.  
_

Belle rolled over with a groan, pulling a pillow over her head. Most days she was an early riser, but today she just wanted to stay inside. 

Unfortunately, today she was also still on assignment, so getting up was not an option. Mary Margaret and her fake groom were out doing whatever brides and grooms do before their wedding in a different country, and she had to tail them. Discreetly, of course. Mary had grown her hair out over the last few months from her short cropped style, and it made her easier to spot- she looked like Snow White walking down the street, like a princess on the arm of her not-quite-prince, and she was doing a very good job of hiding the fact that she didn’t feel comfortable around Peter, the agent posing as her fiancé. He was nice enough, but Belle knew the drill: he wasn’t James. 

The sheets felt incredibly cold without Nicholas beside her. It was a funny thought since she’d really only spent two nights asleep beside him, but she’d spent plenty of nights beside him before when they were not asleep, and it wasn’t the first time she’d felt cold after he left. Belle resolved that no matter what had happened the night before, and no matter how muddled her emotions were at the moment, she was bloody well not going to stay here all day. She took a hot shower, attempting to scrub all the feelings away, but even though she probably would have passed as completely sterile by the time she emerged, she still felt _heavy_.

There were strict rules about assignments like this- no contact except through approved means and to approved people, and needless to say Nicholas Gold was not among those people. Soon enough it would all be over, she hoped, and she swore that the first thing she was going to do when it was done and he had his clean slate was kiss him in the lobby. The group had been here two weeks, and she and Emma had changed their hair styles and colors just to blend in a little better. Emma had gone for something shorter, while Belle simply took to wearing hers braided and tied into a bun.

Her skin was warm to the touch, but everything around her still felt cold, and it wasn’t just the autumn weather setting in. Belle sighed, slipped on a sweater and jeans, picked up a book, and was off to find a quiet place to read. It wasn’t her day to watch Mary Margaret, but she still had to be out and patrolling, looking like a normal ditzy tourist, just in case.

She had hardly taken a seat on a park bench when someone grabbed her from behind, pressing a chloroform cloth to her mouth.  
_

“What’s wrong?” Asked James, looking over Jefferson’s shoulder. All of the team members along with Mary Margaret had had tracking devices implanted just below the skin, and one of them was not behaving normally.

And by behaving normally, he meant that it was way off the course of where it should be.

“It’s not Mary Margaret. The register number… it’s a match for Agent French.” Jefferson zoomed in on the blip from the tracker. The thing was moving way too fast, going far out of range, and suddenly… it stopped. Ruby managed to lock on the signal before he could- the girl was a genius with technology.

“It was moving at about eighty miles per hour, and then zip. That’s impossible- it’s like…” she suddenly stopped, eyes wide.

“What? Like a car crash?” James asked. There had been absolutely nothing, no registered activity for two weeks, and now this? It didn’t make any sense, especially so far off the course.

“No.” Ruby shook her head, pointing to the readings for body temperature. “It’s like somebody cut it out. No temperature reading goes down that fast, not even in the case of death.”

“So what are you saying?” Jefferson asked, tense.

“I think Belle’s been kidnapped.”  
_

Belle awoke several hours later in a shadowy, metal room that she correctly deduced was the back of a truck. Her hands were bound, and her hair had come loose to fall around her face in waves. A cloth was tied over her mouth, but it was loose. If she worked it down enough she might be able to…

“Well, well. We meet again, sweet little Samantha.” A woman stepped forward from the corner of the truck. She was of medium height with dark hair, and very beautiful, but the sinister look on her face spoiled her features.

_Samantha_. 

Belle’s hair was black now, and her eyes were blue. She had a fairly round face, but not so round as you might think from a distance. If she wore her hair up so you couldn’t see the length, and they knew a woman with dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin was on Regina’s watch list. The woman probably hadn’t really seen her stepdaughter in years, actually. It all would have been photos and rumors, and nothing solid, especially not for footmen doing the dirty work to go by.

They thought she was Mary Margaret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in this chapter we learn that Miranda cannot write smut. No really... no. Awkward people and smut don't go together well, I think.
> 
> Thanks for being so patient and supportive! I hope to tie it all up with the next chapter.


	4. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, dears, I shall write an epilogue to tie up a few loose ends, and then this piece will come to a close. Pun intended. Thank you all so much! It's been a great ride.

“Did you really think you could get away from me forever?” The woman leaned down, taking Belle’s chin in hand and looking into her eyes. Ok, normally the people she went after weren’t the stereotypical cackling villains, but this woman certainly fit the description.

Well, Emma said that Belle should have gone blonde when they dyed their hair for this trip. Apparently she was right. If only she could get this damn gag off…

Contrary to what some of the people at the headquarters would probably believe, including Nicholas, this wasn’t actually part of the plan. The plan had been to tail Mary Margaret until Regina locked on, and then to make sure that they caught her in the act, traced her back, and took her out. However, being kidnapped was certainly not what Belle had expected. There was a tracking device hidden in the sole of her shoe, so they probably would know where she was… but at this point it was imperative to make it clear she was not Samantha White.

However, most of the information about Regina’s plot would probably be spilled if she kept up this ruse. If Ms. Mills was going for the psycho killer kind of approach, there was always the wonderful monologue to look forward to that outlined all the plans. But then, if she learned her plans and then divulged that she wasn’t Samantha White, Regina would probably wind up killing her anyways because she knew too much. That scratched out plans A and B… but plan C was always a nice option. 

In other words, play dumb. Look scared and play dumb.

“So, sweetie, before I kill you let me just say that it’s been a pleasure chasing you down.” Regina laughed. “I couldn’t get a lock on your location at all- Gold did a good job. However, your little friends at the CIA fell right into my trap. I knew if I stirred up enough trouble it would attract some attention, and then things fell right into place. He led me to you, and then they had the misfortune to allow you to some here for your wedding.”

“Into the lion’s den.” A man stepped forward from the shadows, his deep voice echoing through the truck. Belle shrank back into the corner, thinking of what she could do to make herself look innocent until she could work this gag off.

“Allow me to introduce Sydney.” Regina smiled. “He’s a friend of mine who has been gracious enough to help me along the way with his _particular_ set of skills.” The man wrapped an arm around her waist, Regina’s features twitching slightly from her painted smile as he did so. She seemed rigid and uncomfortable, not leaning into his embrace the way Belle might expect someone would if they felt affection for the person embracing them. This man was just another pawn in Regina’s grand scheme, and from the looks of it he was a pawn whose heart was involved. His fingers played on her waist lovingly, and still she looked like a statue of ice.

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not _really_ involved in weapons distributions. I mean, I _am_ involved, but not for the reasons we’ve led them to believe.” She continued, sounding almost bored. “You should feel flattered- all of this, every grand scheme and minor detail planned out- was for you. You’re going to die today, Samantha.”

A chill ran down Belle’s spine. As Regina spoke, the gag loosened even further- almost off, almost off… and Regina walked over and ripped the gag from her mouth angrily.

“Well?!” she shouted. “Cry! Cower! _Speak_!” Belle did her best to shudder- and tears! Tears were probably a good idea.

“Who- who’s Samantha?”

Regina’s jaw dropped, and she shoved Sydney away, turning to him in a rage. 

“You got the wrong girl?” she asked, voice soft but menacing. However, her next words ripped through the air like a knife, and Belle cringed away from her in a way that wasn’t faked. “ _You got the wrong girl, you bumbling idiot_!” The older woman slapped Sydney across the cheek.

“Now what are we supposed to do with her?!”

“Regina, love-”

“Don’t _Regina_ me, Sydney!” she screamed, gesturing to Belle. “She has an Australian accent. Just _listen_ to her! Now what are we going to do?!”

“Take her back?” he mumbled through clenched teeth.

“She’s a _liability_. We have to do something.” Regina began pacing back and forth, a feat in a moving truck.

“Please… just let me go.” Belle whispered, finally forcing the faked tears through her eyes, taking in jagged breaths. It was a good thing she’d paid attention in high school theatre classes. Regina shook her head, seeming to think over the possibilities.

“We’ll take her with us.” She finally decided. “If she’s useful we might even let her live.”

X

“ _What the hell is going on_?!” Nicholas Gold barged into the room that Jefferson and Ruby were monitoring the team from. Agent March watched from the side, apparently worried but asking enough questions to indicate that he didn’t actually have much of a clue what was happening. James visibly flinched at Mr. Gold’s outburst, but Jefferson seemed to be just as distressed as he was. 

“Belle’s been compromised. We’re working on it.” James said, turning back to the stream of coordinates on the computer screen. Ruby was speaking into a microphone, giving directions to Peter and Emma, who were out on the hunt for Belle by what he could gather. Mary Margaret must have been left with August, the fourth member of their small team.

“What exactly does _compromised_ entail?” Mr. Gold asked, jaw clenched and knuckles white on his cane.

“Frankly?” Ruby turned away from the mic for a moment, the only one in the room bold enough to answer him bluntly at this moment. “Kidnapped. Normally we wouldn’t assume so quickly, but she was a ways outside the city when we last got a trace, and she wouldn’t have gone off on her own like that.”

A stream of curses that could rival a sailor flew from Gold’s mouth, so loud that Emma and Peter heard on the other end of Ruby’s connection. The room was dead silent after he finished, absolutely fuming, but Emma’s voice crackled through to break the moment.

“Who was that?”

“That was Mr. Gold.” Ruby said quietly, gauging his actions carefully. Silence returned, washing over them like waves.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Nicholas cried. “Don’t you have a job to do?” He huffed, turning to walk from the room, but one murmured comment from Gaston stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh my God. He’s in love with her.” 

The stupid boy was joking, but only halfway. It took all of the strength her had left not to turn around and do something he would probably regret. Instead, he forced himself to hurry back out the doors, slumping against the wall in the hallway.

Jefferson was outside in moments, a curious expression on his face.

“What do you want, Maddock?” Gold snapped, attempting to keep his careful control.

“If you want to help Belle,” Jefferson began slowly, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground, “I need to know everything you can possibly tell me about Regina, and I need to know exactly what went on between you two. You and Belle, that is.”

“ _Nothing_ went on-”

“That wasn’t nothing, Mr. Gold.” His eyes narrowed, hands habitually straying to the brim of his hat. “That was the way I would react if it was Emma out there. Agent March isn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but I know what I saw.” Mr. Gold was silent for a long moment.

“Regina has eyes and ears everywhere.” He finally said. “If Belle’s been kidnapped, it could mean one of several things, and I pray to God it doesn’t mean she knows about her. About my… _involvement_ with her.”

“I’m assuming this is the worst case scenario?” Jefferson hadn’t even batted an eyelash at the implication that Mr. Gold had a relationship with Agent French.  
“Barring death? Yes.” Gold rubbed his eyes, sending up a thousand silent prayers.

“Then let’s come back to it. What are the better cases?”

“It’s a _kidnapping_ \- there are no _good_ cases!” Nicholas rolled his eyes, but Jefferson knew better. He was distressed- he needed time to recover that they didn’t have. Mr. Gold continued with a sigh only a moment later. “Best case scenario is that Regina knows nothing and took the wrong woman. No doubt she picked up on Mary Margaret’s activities, but she hasn’t seen the girl in six years, most likely, and Belle…” She was close. Roughly the same height, dark hair, blue eyes…

“She dyed her hair before she left. Black.” Jefferson nodded. “Emma did, too, just in case they’d been keeping tabs on the office. It sounds to me like this could go either way.” Gold shook his head, frustration making his thoughts swim.

“I don’t know which is worse, to be honest.” He looked over at Agent Maddock, eyes wide and frightened, as opposed to his usual narrowed and shrewd look. “If she knows, Belle will probably be tortured for information, but that would buy us time. If she doesn’t, then Regina won’t waste time with trying to glean intel- she’ll just kill her.”

 

X

 

Belle didn’t know how much time had passed before the truck pulled off the road and rolled down a long gravel path. When the back doors opened, Belle was dragged inside a small run-down shack by two burly men and tossed roughly to the ground. Two others followed close behind- they must have been riding in the front of the truck. The building seemed to be in a small clearing in a forest, meaning they had to be at least a few hours outside of Rome. The only lights were two streetlamps (sans street) positioned outside the front of the building.

She could have taken her guards, of course, but that might mean losing their only shot at catching Regina, and that wasn’t something she was willing to risk. Letting herself be thrown around meant becoming rather bruised, but it also meant giving off the impression that she was docile and easily controlled. 

Inside the shack there was a surprising array of computer equipment lining the walls, and Belle got the feeling that the outward appearance (old, dilapidated, abandoned, and generally structurally unstable) was only to ward off anyone who might want to come inside. There were only a few pale floodlights in the room, casting long shadows across the walls and floors, but you didn’t exactly need a lot of light when your purpose was to work from backlit computer screens. A lap could be plugged in if one area needed light. _Theatrics, every bit of it_ , Belle scoffed. They kept her hands and feet tied and sat her in a chair in the middle of the one-room shack, the dim lighting only adding to Regina’s dramatic flair.

“So, sweetheart,” she began, scrutinizing every inch of Belle as she approached, “What exactly do you know?”

“What?” Belle asked, shaking her head. _Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb…_ Regina chuckled coldly, shaking her head.

“What do you _know_?” She repeated the sentence slowly, as if talking to a particularly dense child. When Belle didn’t respond, she continued talking. “I don’t want to hurt you. All I care about is getting my stepdaughter back, but I need to know if you know anything about her.”

“I- I-” Belle stuttered, chin quivering. God, she hoped this was convincing. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes, more from forcibly not blinking than anything, but they had the desired effect.

“She doesn’t know anything, Regina.” Sydney said quietly. Belle’s heart beat faster- this could be good or bad.

“You see, that was what I thought, too, until we took a peek at this.” She pulled a small device from her pocket and waved it in front of Belle’s face. Numbers were flashing across a tiny screen, too little to read from a distance. “You’re _transmitting_.”

“Transmitting _what_?” The panic on her face was real. Usually they told you not to show fear, never to panic, but in order to keep up the façade of fragile young maiden, she needed to show everything she felt. However, the ruse was failing quickly- if Regina had known she was transmitting, she’s been playing along all this time. Perhaps she was smarter than they’d given her credit for (and they’d given her quite a bit of credit on that account).

“Don’t play stupid with me!” The older woman yelled, voice echoing. “You’re wearing a transmitter, and while we’ve got the signal blocked from here, you’d best tell me whatever you know.”

“I _don’t know_ anything.” That was when Regina finally slapped her hard across the cheek. Belle’s head whipped to the side and she tasted blood, but it wasn’t too serious. 

“Oh, you don’t?” her voice was coated with honey, but every word sounded like a threat. “During our little ride I looked back at some of the information I compiled, and you know, I discovered something pretty interesting.” She held a hand out to the side, and Sydney stepped forward, a manila envelope in hand. 

“Now, don’t tell me you don’t know we’ve had the CIA under observation for months.” Regina continued, raising an eyebrow. Belle kept her mouth clamped shut as the dark haired woman pulled several photos from the envelope, flipping through them one by one. “A new hair color will only do so much.” She finally held out one so that Belle could see it- a picture of her walking back to her hotel in the rain, face clearly visible. Regina’s surveillance team must have been good to snap that one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“And now, you’re going to tell me what you know, or I will kill you- slowly and painfully.” The woman practically growled her threat. She was dangerous on a good day, but now she was angry- angry because she didn’t have what she wanted, and angry because Belle wouldn’t speak to tell her how she could get it. Any second now she could put a gun to her head and pull back the trigger at the slightest provocation, and by the murderous look in her eyes it wouldn’t weigh on her conscience in the least.

And Belle simply laughed.

It was more of a giggle, really, half-choked by the wild sense of panic and relief, but it was still a laugh. Regina recoiled, shocked, but only came back twice as furious.

“What?!”

“You’re bluffing.” Belle whispered, nodding slowly. “You don’t have my signal blocked, do you?”

“Of course we do. You think just because we’re in the middle of nowhere means we don’t have the capability to block a tracking device?” Well, you’d have to be stupid to think that with the amount of computer equipment in the room, now wouldn’t you? Oh, she was a good liar… but not that good.

“No. I think you have the _capability_ \- I even think you’re prepared to do it, but you won’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you need me.” 

“Why on earth would you think a stupid thing like that? You’re dispensable.”

“I am, in a way, but I know you don’t kill me.” Belle was careful to keep her face calm, a mask. “I have information you need, and even if you don’t get it then you can use me to press an exchange with Mary Margaret, and you’re not about to give up that chance.”

“I could kill you.”

“And you would in a heartbeat, but smart people don’t do that if they want information.” 

If Belle was a pawn, then she’d just managed to singlehandedly put Regina in check. The woman had nothing on her, no information to indicate where her family might be or anyone who they might be able to use against her. If you want information _badly_ , you threaten loved ones and wait. If you want information _quickly_ , you threaten the captive and hope they have a sense of self-preservation.

Unfortunately for Regina, Belle’s self-preservation instinct had long been snuffed out.

The Mills woman didn’t have time to wait on information or anything to gain from killing Belle, except to send back a body and prove she meant business. In reality, that approach would get both sides absolutely nowhere, and would probably set each of them back a step. The Interpol would have lost an agent, and the CIA would have doubled protection on Mary Margaret. Regina would have zero chance of satisfying what Belle was beginning to suspect was a psychotic homicidal urge to kill her stepdaughter. She wanted a bargain, and the only way to get a bargain was with Belle alive.

It would be tricky from here on out. Belle was safe for now, but that was only for however long it might take for the others to reach her. That is, assuming Regina was bluffing about blocking her signal… No, no, she would just have to have faith. Belle forced her face into an impassive stone mask, trying to be attentive and give away absolutely nothing at once. She might be able to gain some information while she waited.

Where were they?

 

X

 

“Where are we?” Emma asked, flipping the map around again, trying to look at the roads with a flashlight while Peter drove, blindly following wherever the locating device was directing them. She couldn’t make heads or tails of the map, and she certainly couldn’t figure out how Peter had any confidence at all in where he was going. 

“Somewhere on the fast track to Nowheresville.” He said matter-of-factly, taking another curve just a bit too quickly for Emma’s taste. She was eager to get to Belle, too, but she did want to get there _alive_. Driving down a dark and curvy road at top speed probably wasn’t the best way to manage that particular little detail. They didn’t have a live signal any longer, which meant that either something had it blocked or the device had been destroyed (Emma refused to entertain the possibility that Belle might have been destroyed), so they were following the coordinates of the last spot someone had gotten a live signal.

That particular spot happened to be in the smack middle of a highway.

And that highway happened to run beside a pretty creepy-looking forest.

Peter parked on the shoulder, the car nestled in a small, tree-free area, and the pair got out to look around.

“It’s too dark.” Peter said dejectedly. “We can’t do anything if we can’t see, and that won’t be till morning.”

“No way.” Emma started to walk off, determined to find something, anything that might indicate where Belle could be, but Peter grabbed her arm.

“Hey. Look at me, Swan.” His tone was firm enough that she did, however reluctantly. “She’s my friend, too, but we’re not doing her any good by wearing ourselves out looking for something we can’t find until the sun comes up.” Emma hesitated, but didn’t agree to stop the search. She still wasn’t satisfied.

“Look, if you want we’ll get up at the crack of dawn and drive back out here. I would offer to let you sleep in the car, but it probably increases _our_ chances of being kidnapped. We just need a little time, and I need you to do what you do best: _breathe_ and focus. Ok?” 

After a long moment, Emma nodded.

“Ok.” She said slowly. “But we’re back out here as soon as there’s enough light.”

 

X

 

Belle spent the next twenty-four hours in a state of meditation. It was one of the few things that helped her out in an extremely emotionally and physically demanding situation, and she could almost do it without even thinking about it. This situation wasn’t quite as drastic as the torture situations that she’d used meditation in before (the only thing that even resembled torture was lack of food, water, and sleep, and it hadn’t been long enough for these things to gnaw at her yet), but it certainly helped to keep her calm, and there was only so much you could do for amusement when your hands and feet are tied to a chair and your company consists of a psychotic killer and her henchman.

She didn’t manage to gain much information about Regina just by listening- they weren’t stupid, and they weren’t movie villains who recite monologues while cackling. They knew she was listening, and they knew if they got what they wanted and made a hostage exchange, Belle would take whatever information she knew back to the Interpol and the CIA.

By watching the pair at work, Belle was able to pick up on a few things. Sydney wasn’t a planner and he was very emotional, but he knew his technology. It was probably why Regina had brought him on in the first place. When Regina wasn’t looking, he stared at her with this dreamy-eyed look that made Belle want to gag on her gag, but when Sydney wasn’t paying attention Regina looked like she could murder him with a single glance. She’d threatened to torture Belle for information, but Sydney had talked her out of it every time for one reason or another. He actually looked afraid when Regina talked of torture, but he didn’t bat an eyelash at murder. Maybe he didn’t have the stomach for suffering?

Every now and then her thoughts would circle back around to Nicholas, and she would mentally cringe at the scolding she would probably face from both James and Gold when she got back to New York.

_If_ she got back to New York.

That was actually what her thoughts kept circling around, the _if_. 

There were far too many “ifs” involved in this story for Belle’s liking. For example, she could get herself out of the chair without too much trouble, _if_ Regina didn’t shoot her first. She could run away and find the main road _if_ there weren’t too many guards outside. She could get help on her own _if_ she could figure out which way to go. Perhaps the only thing that didn’t involve an _if_ was that Belle definitely did not speak Italian. She would have to find someone who spoke English to get directions.

But then again, that was all _if_ she got out.

So much was riding on that little two letter word…

“So, I see your team has abandoned you.” Regina spoke towards Belle, smiling smugly. Belle kept her face as still as stone. It had only been a day, which was child’s play in the grand scheme of things, but she couldn’t blame Regina for trying. Someone who had never been help hostage before would probably be in rather bad shape just now.

“Ah, sentiment. What a ridiculous notion.” The raven-haired woman chuckled, spinning back around to face Sydney. “Get me a line to the CIA.”

The man nodded and scurried off to tap on a keyboard. Apparently the equipment actually served a practical purpose beside just looking like equipment, and apparently Sydney was more competent than he seemed, because within a minute or two the phone was ringing.

And not just any phone, oh no. Mr. Price’s phone.

“James Price. What’s the emergency?” His voice came over a hidden speaker, echoing throughout the room.

This was his special line, the _private_ line, the one single direct line that only went to him in the most dire situations. How the _hell_ did he hack into that?!

“Hello, Mr. Price. What a pleasure it is to finally hear from you.” Regina grinned maliciously at Sydney.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“Oh, how I got this number isn’t important, but what I’m about to tell you is. We’ve got your agent.” She paused, waiting for the weight of the words to sink in.  
“Regina.” Good old James, perfectly calm in the face of fear. People like Belle and James, who tended to babble under pressure, were often the best at keeping their mouths shut.

“Very good!” False cheer practically dripped from her voice. “But don’t bother trying to get a trace on me. I’m about to tell you where I am. Listen closely.”  
Regina rattled off coordinates over the phone quickly, and directions that Belle couldn’t even follow.

“Why are you telling me this?” James asked, sounding suspicious.

“Simple. I want to make a deal. You have something I want, and I have something you want. Bring Samantha White to those coordinates in the next twelve hours and you’ll get your agent back. If you’re smart you’ll keep this interaction between us. I have guards at the road directed to meet you for the exchange- don’t think you won’t be seen if you try something funny.”

“And if we don’t agree?” Always a good idea to ask.

“In twelve hours the sun will rise, and if you don’t bring me my stepdaughter by then your agent dies at dawn.”

Great.

Regina hung up the phone and looked at Belle. She probably had a good idea of what was coming for her if the agent got her bonds loose, but apparently she’d planned for that.

“Don’t even think about trying to get loose, sweetheart. Even if you could, there’s a passcode on the door that’ll blow this whole place to kingdom come if you open it without entering it first.”

Damn. There goes plan B.

 

X

 

“Ok, Ruby, get a lock on those coordinates and get our team out there now!” Mr. Gold had finally made his way back in the room, and he was looking pretty red in the face over this last development.

“What’s the plan?” he asked, sounding more like a prayer than a question.

“We’re not making the exchange.” Jefferson said matter-of-factly. The look on Gold’s face betrayed him: Panicking, the man was panicking, and the Hatter couldn’t blame him for it. “Relax! We’ll get Belle back, but we’re not giving up Mary Margaret in the meantime.”

It took another few minutes to lower Mr. Gold’s blood pressure again. Jefferson understood that the situation was particularly stressful for him because someone he cared for was in danger, and he was powerless to do anything about it.

“What’s wrong, Gold?” James asked, looking up from conversing with Ruby.

“Nothing.” He grumbled, taking a seat and twiddling with his cane. Every fiber of his being was simply screaming for them to get Belle back, and he wasn’t about to hamper that process.

“It’s not nothing- you’ve been on edge since we found out about Agent French. Do you know something we don’t know?” The director walked over, gauging Gold’s movement carefully. Nervous, shaking. Worried?

Of course it would come to this, of course it would. Gold should have suspected all along that they would find a reason not to trust him at the very last minute- bring him in with all his charges intact, and damn whatever he’d done for them over the course of the investigation. The lure of a clean slate had been to enticing for him. It was just sitting there, ready for him to take it, and then they’d _agreed_. A new beginning. 

He could never have that now, he supposed, not even if the CIA wiped the records as promised. Everything had flipped upside down the second Ruby had told him about Belle’s kidnapping.

“Mr. Price, rest assured I want to bring your agent back alive as much as anyone in this room, but you must understand that Regina is forcing us into her game. We’re so far in that if you let her win now she won’t stop until every soul in this room is dead or beyond recovering in some fashion. Belle will only be the first on a long list of the fallen.”

“What are you suggesting, Gold? Give up Mary Margaret?” Exasperated, completely exasperated. Nicholas would never get used to the director’s attitude when he thought he knew best.

“I’m not _suggesting_ anything, Mr. Price. I’m telling you that both sides know too much now. Regina’s got one of our agents, and as much faith that I have that Belle hasn’t divulged a word, it means she has a way of tracking us now. We know far too much about her motives and exploits for her liking. When you recover Belle you have to take in Regina, too.”

Most of the room was staring at him now. He couldn’t take this much longer, not when they should working to find Belle and bring Regina in. Mostly to find Belle, but he couldn’t fool himself and think that she would ever be safe after this encounter without the bigger thorn in his side out of the way. Without Regina out of the picture, she’d just keep coming back. Arabella French would never be safe again, not while Regina still breathed. Even these few hours would be too much information to leave Belle alive in her book.

“Well, obviously that’s the goal-”

“No, it’s not the _goal_. It’s our only option.” Gold snapped. “You want to live, you bring her in _tonight_.”

A moment of silence passed as his words sunk in, the tension in the room ready to snap at any moment.

“Why are you so concerned about Agent French?” James’ eyes narrowed perceptively.

“Perhaps someday I’ll tell you.” The two gazed at each other evenly for a moment, neither daring to speak, before Ruby coughed gently to bring them back into the real world.

“Ok,” she said, directing them towards a map. “These coordinates are in the middle of the woods. If what Regina says is right, then that means the guards are probably positioned here.” She pointed to a seemingly random spot on the side of the road. “That’s where the only road leading to a place anywhere near those coordinates connects with the main road.”

“So that’s our only way in.” James said. “And Regina will probably have those guards sound the alarm as soon as they see us.” 

“The only shot we have at getting Belle back and taking Regina down is by surprise.” Jefferson mused. “We have two agents guarding Mary Margaret, so only Peter and Emma are at our disposal. We can’t take them down on our own.”

“Maybe you won’t have to.” Gold said quietly. Three heads snapped in his direction, eager for any insight he might be able to provide. “I have more pull in different areas of the world than you might suspect. I can get you some backup if you can figure out a back way through the forest.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting on a response.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” James asked, standing. “Get to work!”

 

X

“It’s been eleven hours. They aren’t coming.” Sydney checked his watch for perhaps the millionth time in the course of the night. 

“Of course they’re coming. They’re waiting on the right time to strike.” Regina stood, beginning to pace back and forth.

“They know you’re not going to kill her-”

“They won’t risk it.”

“Are you sure-”

“Yes, I’m sure!” she gestured wildly, stopping abruptly in the middle of the room. Belle watched silently with interest as Sydney put a hand on her shoulder gently, as if in comfort.

“Get away from me!” Regina whirled, shoving him away with both hands. “Don’t touch me! After tonight I don’t ever want to see your pathetic little face again!” He looked as if he’d been slapped. Well, this was a turn of events…

Regina’s face twisted for a moment, and then she laughed, cold and humorless “What? Oh, don’t actually think that I _cared_ for you.” Regina’s nose wrinkled, and she brushed at her shoulder where he’d touched her. “Please. You’re _useful_ , Sydney. That’s all you ever were, and that’s all-”

Sydney suddenly reared back and punched Regina, driving his fist towards her eye with all his strength. Belle was shocked, but took the moment to begin struggling against her bonds once more. 

“Next time you insult someone, you might not want to make all the guards wait back at the freeway.” Regina crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Sydney rushed over to where Belle was tied and gagged. She wasn’t able to speak, but made a muffled alarmed noise.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He said, spinning around to untie the knots on her bonds. In a short time she was free, standing up on unsteady feet. Her legs were asleep, and it was difficult to walk very fast. 

“Why are you doing this?” Belle asked, now free of the gag.

“Why did I do any of it?” Sydney shrugged, hanging his head. He seemed to have recovered from his shock quickly. “I thought she…” he trailed off.  
“You thought she loved you.” Belle whispered, almost involuntarily. Sydney sighed shakily, nodding, then shook himself back to the present.

“That doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” he said sadly. “Go. Get out of here before her backup comes from the road- the door passcode is 08-12-19. If she wakes up there’s going to be hell to pay.” Belle could have stayed to ask more questions, but Sydney shooed her again, urging her towards the doors, and instinct took over. She ran, hoping that the CIA would wind up here before Regina’s backup came.

As soon as she was out the door, two large hands immediately crushed her small body to the wall, pinning her there fast. It was dark, and she couldn’t see her attacker’s face, the only light coming from the dim lampposts around the building. Belle squeezed her eyes shut instinctually and lashed out, but her assailant held her fast. Harsh lights came from the side, searing through her eyelids- flashlights! This was the backup!

She struggled harder, screamed out, but to no avail… or so she thought.

“Peter, hold it!” A familiar voice came from the side, in the direction of the bright lights, and Belle wrenched her eyes open. Emma.

The grip on Belle’s shoulders relaxed, the large figure backing away.

“Belle?! Oh my- I thought you were Regina!” the voice was easily identified as Peter, and Belle flung her arms around his neck, never happier to see a familiar face.

Yes, this was backup, but it was _her_ backup.

Emma signaled a group of other people holding lights, and the _Carabinieri_ , the Italian military police, came in behind her. They entered the building with Peter while Emma stayed outside to take care of Belle.

“It’s about bloody time.” Belle sat down heavily, rubbing her chaffed wrists.

“We were planning an ambush, but the guards at the road slowed us down… Are you hurt?” Emma asked, forcing her to sit while she checked her over. There were so many more questions to ask, but for now Belle simply nodded, letting the relief wash over her in waves. This experience hadn’t been as bad as others in the past, but she was glad to be out of it nonetheless.

“Not badly.” Belle shrugged, knowing there would be some awful bruising, rope burn, and probably some nasty cuts, but nothing serious. No stab wounds, no broken bones, no bullets lodged in her flesh, no poison ingested that required a three week stay in the emergency department to completely cleanse her of- all of which had happened before. Belle tended to be the one who had the most on-site accidents.

“Are you lying?” The now-brunette woman raised an eyebrow, and Belle smiled weakly.

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” she asked. “Don’t worry. I’m a little scraped, but nothing life-threatening.” Emma breathed a visible sigh of relief, and helped Belle to stand. She ushered her back to one of the medics to be checked over properly for signs of shock and have her cuts and bruises patched over as the _Carabinieri_ took care of Regina.

 

X

 

In the end, having the Italian government involved only complicated an already convoluted situation beyond untangling, even though Mr. Gold assured that no one asked too many questions. Regina was brought back to the CIA headquarters for questioning by all four government parties involved, as was her accomplice Sydney Glass.

The woman wouldn’t crack, wouldn’t even admit to more than the fact that she hadn’t seen Samantha White since she ran away. Sydney Glass, however, was a different matter. He divulged everything, even down to the very last minute details of their plots, and that the overall plan had been nothing more than the eventual death of Samantha White. He wasn’t convinced she didn’t have something a little more hostile involved for after this plot, though. Regina’s weapons trafficking may have been a distraction, but it was a very real distraction that had almost caused a very real war. She wasn’t about to avoid charges with all the evidence that Sydney piled on her. Throughout the entire questioning process, he seemed so gray, so unfeeling, so completely numb that Belle almost wanted to hug him when she heard the tapes several months later. He did save her life, after all.

Samantha White, Belle French, and Nicholas Gold provided enough supplemental evidence and background information that finding a reason to jail Regina Mills wasn’t difficult. They had her on attempted murder without a doubt, not to mention embezzlement, treason, and the case involving the death of Mary Margaret’s father was reopened for further examination with the addition of new evidence from Mr. Gold. By James’ call she would have twenty years at least, and more if they could gain enough evidence to prove the other charges.

In the end, after months of rigorous court trials, Regina was placed under custody in a highly secret facility, known only to a few top members of the organizations involved, for the safety of everyone involved. She wouldn’t be bothering anyone again… well, ever. 

As soon as Emma set a foot inside the CIA office, Jefferson proposed, declaring that “By God, if you’re going to be going off on trips like that I swear I’m saying everything that I want to tell you before you leave in the future.” Mary Margaret was planning the wedding.

Now there was only one matter left to attend to… Nicholas. 

After the arrest of Regina, Belle had immediately been shipped straight back to Australia, stopping in New York only long enough for her to gather her things under supervision. The Interpol was keeping a close eye on her- there was even a car outside her house- but that meant several things. One, she couldn’t really have any privacy, but that was alright in exchange for the assurance that she wouldn’t be murdered in her bed. Two, she was stuck in Australia with her family, which was tolerable for the time being but without a doubt wouldn’t stay that way. Three, she was stuck in Australia without Nicholas, and with no way to contact him without arousing suspicion, which was completely intolerable. Period.

Her sisters weren’t completely stupid. They picked up that she was pining for someone, and pressed her for details, asking if it was a handsome New Yorker or a tall dark stranger. After a while Caroline started trying to set her up with people, but all Belle’s polite refusals did was keep her working harder. As much as Belle enjoyed their light banter as opposed to sullen silence, she only missed Nicholas all the more. She missed him especially at night- though the nightmares didn’t return, waking up alone on cold sheets was an extremely unpleasant feeling, especially when you knew you were in a house that didn’t welcome you. Belle wanted his arms around her, to lay her head on his chest and feel his heart beating.

It was so strange to be home. She had started to think of New York as home, actually. As part of her job as an agent Belle was almost constantly away, and the break the Interpol sent her on (their term was more like “leave of absence,” but Belle preferred something more akin to torture sentence) after this last assignment was beginning to feel more and more like a strange dream or a horrible nightmare. 

She would have insisted on going back with Nicholas to Scotland, on staying in New York, on anything but this… except that they hadn’t given her a choice. Even four months after the incident she was still undergoing questioning, and she hadn’t been asked a single thing about why Regina had been so violent towards her. Nothing pertaining to Nicholas at all, actually…

Would she ever see him again?

One morning, after a particularly awful night’s sleep, Belle came down to breakfast with her family as usual. The normal comments went around about the weather and the government, and which movies were playing, and as usual Belle simply listened. She didn’t care much for this type of conversation- no time for movies, the weather was _always_ hot, nothing interesting ever went on among the celebrities her sisters loved to keep track of, and she _worked_ for the bloody government. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her job over a meal. It was best just to say silent.

However, at that moment there was a knock at the door.

The entire family froze. No one knocked at their door any more. Everyone who went inside was scrutinized by the Interpol agents stationed at the house, and nearly everyone in town had noticed the car outside by now. Hardly anyone came calling- they went out instead. Odd.

Belle rose, still in her pajamas, to open the door. She held it open a crack, just to peer outside, get a handle on who it was… and nearly screamed. 

Her father and sisters jumped up, alarmed, but Belle paid them no mind, hurriedly unfastening the chain and throwing herself into the arms of the man who stood on their front porch. Tears sprang to her eyes, breath coming in short, gasping sobs. 

“Nicholas.” She pulled him in for a kiss, urgent and desperate, and damn if her family was watching them with those stupid shocked expressions.

“Hello to you, too, dearie.” He murmured, one hand on her waist to pull her in closer. Belle wanted to stay like this forever, resting her head on his shoulder and drinking him in, but a sudden thought occurred and she jumped back, panicked.

“How did you find me? Do they know you’re here?!” No one would have let him have access to the records, would they? Of course, Nicholas had his ways, but if they found him there could and would be trouble.

“Did you not remember my price?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow, a bemused expression on his face. “A clean slate.”

It took a moment for the realization to dawn on her. 

Nicholas was free.

“Took a while for the bloody paperwork to go through, and then they wiped the systems and burned all said paperwork, and then I had to hunt you down afterwards...” Nicholas continued, a smile playing around the corners of his lips.

“I’m glad you did.” Belle reached up to run her fingers through his hair gently. “I thought I might never see you again.” Nicholas laughed softly, pulling her in close once more.

“Now what would give you the notion that I would ever let that happen?” He was about to kiss her again when there was a loud, suggestive coughing sound. They both turned back to the three staring members of Belle’s family, and a blush slowly crept up her cheeks.

“Sorry to interrupt this little love-fest…” Caroline began, “But who the hell is he and when did you get a boyfriend?”


	5. Coda

Two years later:

“Nick?” Belle called, looking around the house. She’d come over for Christmas dinner, something small and rather early in the month, but mostly a chance for the two of them to have some time alone for a change. Things had been so hectic lately, what with Belle being called in and Christmas on the way.

Officially, Belle French was a retired agent with a rather large pension. Unofficially, she was anything but retired. The Interpol kept her off the books for the more sensitive jobs, and she was now one of the agency’s best kept secrets, continuing her work with the CIA on the side (with approval from the Interpol, of course). Nick hated it, constantly nagging at her to actually retire, but she wouldn’t do it.

She’d moved into Nicholas’ house in Scotland earlier that year, sometimes sharing a room and a bed, but other times not. It was a sort of mutual agreement, an in-between space that wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. However, they had both learned that living together didn’t mean that they had any more time together. Belle’s family came and visited for a week once, and he’s learned just how… interesting… they were, and both of them were constantly being called away for one thing or another. Tonight was supposed to be something just for them…

If she could find him, that was.

“Nicholas Gold, this is far from funny-” 

Her breath caught in her throat as she rounded the corner. The dining room was large, but the leaves taken out of the table so it was a perfect circle and set for two. The lights were off, but three tall candles were lit on the table.

“Hello, love.”

Belle turned as Nicholas walked in behind her. He stole a kiss before she could get a word in edgewise, sliding through the doorway to pull out her chair for her. She hadn’t seen it before, but there was a small pile of books on the side of the table- The Three Musketeers sat right on top, surrounded by Sherlock Holes and Les Miserables, and overall the stack looked eerily similar to the small collection Belle took with her when she traveled… the same stack they’d read from in New York. Her heart sped up a little.

“What are you up to, Nicholas?” she asked, finding his gaze. He cleared his throat, suddenly looking extremely small.

“I… I hope you’ll forgive me for not kneeling…” he began, fumbling in his pocket. She didn’t dare believe it until she saw the ring.

“Yes! Yes, of course!” She jumped up out of the chair and threw her arms around his neck, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“I didn’t actually ask you yet.” Nicholas mumbled into her hair, but she could tell he was relieved.

“Does it actually matter?”

“Not really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has take the time to read this far! It's been a great ride and I appreciate all the support along the way.


End file.
